


The Alpaca's 2020 Whumptober Collection

by Safealpaca



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, Animal Abuse, Asphyxiation, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Begging, Biting, Blood, Body Horror, Branding, Broken Bones, Bruises, Buried Alive, Burns, Cages, Cannibalism, Chains, Child Abuse, Child Death, Choking, Claustrophobia, Cults, Cutting, Darkness, Death, Dehumanization, Dehydration, Demonic Possession, Drowning, Drug Use, Electrocution, Filthy, Fire, Force-Feeding, Gaslighting, Gore, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Hallucinations, Handcuffs, Head Injury, Human Experimentation, Injury, Knives, Miscarriage, Multi, Mutilation, Muzzles, Needles, Poisoning, Possession, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Revenge, Scars, Self-Harm, Shooting, Slavery, Sleep Deprivation, Smoking, Stabbing, Starvation, Stitches, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, Torture, Vomiting, Water, Whipping, Whump, Wings, ill put tags at the top of each chapter for different elements, puncture, rebar, splinters, whumptober2020, zalgo text
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 31
Words: 38,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26748730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safealpaca/pseuds/Safealpaca
Summary: Do ya like seeing characters get hurt? Do ya like developing a small connection to characters that are getting hurt over the course of 700-1500 words? Well, look no further. These are all OCs, belonging both to me and the friend I roleplay with. Any name or likeness is purely coincidental (except when it's not and we just adapted the character way far away from the canon source material). Whump abound in these 2020 prompts, completed and truly ready for reading!
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Let's Hang Out Sometime

**Author's Note:**

> This is for prompt Day 1: Let's Hang Out Sometime - Waking up Restrained/Shackled/Hanging. 
> 
> This work revolves around Ara, a girl who has died far too many times in her life, who has overcome so much adversity and found a prosperous life reborn as a Phoenix. She is a daughter of Andromeda and Ben, twin sister to Cassie, wife of Gray, step-mom of Opal, granddaughter of Dead and Norga.
> 
> TW: swearing, non-con, foot injury, handcuffed, darkness, hanging upside down, miscarriage mention, wing injury, spinal injury, head injury, cutting (not the self-harm kind), drug usage

Before the world went dark, Ara was being dragged through concrete halls deep underground. Her bare feet caught on jagged edges, ripping open gashes in her skin that used to knit right back together. The heavy cuffs dug into her wrists, imbued with a magic that suppressed every last inch of Power in her body.

Powerless was a new feeling for Ara. She was kidnapped just after birth, experimented on, juiced up with every Power her captor could find. Now, she felt empty. Warmth left her body, her limbs heavy and weak, her inner elbow aching from the injection. The world was silent, stranger's thoughts no longer dripping in word after word. The phoenix feathers that dotted her skin had lost all sheen, her wings drooping, her eyes dull.

It was _horrifying._

Stay complacent, stay quiet. She tried her best to not resist after seeing guns trained on her husband, Gray. Her arrest was wrongful, of course, it wasn't her fault that her numerous Powers overloaded the registration machine. They could have only tested the machine against a sample group, likely of weaker Empowered beings. They had no way of preparing for the cacophony Ara held in her body.

It was hard to stay quiet when the man dragging her began the insults. He called her a menace, called her _family_ a menace. He called her grandfather an asshole, her grandmother a bitch, when those two had saved the planet time and time again. And then, he focused on her mother, Andromeda. Ara lost all sense of calm at the mention of her, screaming at the man, writhing until he tossed her into a dark cell.

He stepped into the cell, towering over her, and kicked her square in the gut when she yelled. Blood filled her mouth that she spat up at him, fury ever present in her eyes and voice. She struggled to her feet, fighting the heavy cuffs, ready to take the man out, ready to sweep his legs and step on his throat-- but he got her first. She landed on her side, coughing more blood out, another kick landing in her lung. "You... you know..." A laugh bubbled out of her lips, hysteria settling in. "You're a great fucking guy... _Let's hang out sometime."_

His boot collided with her skull, plunging her into darkness.

*

When the light returned, a pounding skull made Ara groan loudly. Every single pulse of her blood was a rush of pain that swept through her throat and into her brain. The heartbeat strengthened in her fingertips as she flexed her hands. Still handcuffed, still shackled and bound, arms strained, legs strained even more.

Upside down. She was _upside down._ Her wings were heavy weights that brushed against the rough floor as she swayed ever so slightly. Her legs began to burn, fire erupting as she became acutely aware of the bindings wrapped around her calves and ankles.

Ara blinked her eyes once, twice, before squeezing them shut. It was as if her eyes were bulging out of her skull, ready to pop if touched. _Thump... thump... thump..._ The only sound left was her own heartbeat. How was she supposed to handle this, how does she focus on _escape?_

"Awake?" A dry voice slid in between pulses. _"Good."_

Her knuckles brushed against the floor as she forced her eyes open, writhing, trying to see who spoke. There was a silhouette, a big, burly, blurry mountain of a silhouette. A light tapping began to fill the in-betweens, the sound of metal bouncing again a heavy palm. Said metal found its home against Ara's gut, drawing a strained cry from her mouth.

_Did they know?_

"Now you can feel every little bit of pain."

Another strike hit her ribs, a crack resounding from the impact. Next, her kidney. Ara's abdomen burned as her body tried to curl up, tried to shy away from the hits. The next three hits all focused on that abdomen, her cries growing louder and louder, forming a melody of suffering.

_Did that machine know?_

Her captor circled around her dangling body, stepping on her primary feathers without a care. Her spine was the next target, numbness streaking up her thighs like lightning spreading through a cloud. How she longed for her Powers, how she yearned for healing and fire and some sort of hurricane of the elements. Was this how her Powerless father felt? Weak? Exposed? Did the Empowered deserve such pain for being so strong?

Once more against her tailbone, the grope of her rear hardly tangible in the static tingling of her lower half. Her captor was getting handsy, hungry at the sight of her body, hand lingering and beginning to roam, pressing along a seam of her jeans with a wicked grin.

_Did they know she was pregnant?_

Another hit, another cry. Blood was trickling from her lips in copious amounts, running up her cheeks, mixing with tears that seeped into her auburn hair. A sharp pinch drew a gargled gasp, one of her feathers on her hips being ripped out. The torturer let out an amused hum, looking over the phoenix feather, feeling how it still burned with her eternal flame.

"This would make a lovely new feather boa, wouldn't it? It could actually work as a proper scarf." The captor squatted in front of Ara's face, turning the feather over in their hand. "I think I know exactly who'll buy you. A fashion designer. You'll be harvested. Every. Feather. Plucked."

Ara let out a whimper before coughing, blood landing on her enemy's face. A scowl formed as the torturer rose back to their feet and kicked her right in the jaw. Fire burst through her head, her ears ringing, vision blurring further. Wordlessly, she prayed for darkness, prayed that she would black out.

_Another miscarriage. Another loss. Would she ever have a child of her own?_

Her mind turned to Gray, turned to her husband, turned to the biological father of her adopted daughter, Opal. Was he hurt? Were they going to hurt a Powerless man? No, no they couldn't, could they? That would go against their rules, their design that the Empowered are the evil ones, that the Powerless were the true worthy beings.

Opal was safe, she had to be. She was in a different dimension. Kinfolk's army of Powerless had no way to cross dimensional walls. If they hurt a single hair on her little head... Ara's fists clenched, each digit heavy, each breath labored. She would kill them. She would kill _all_ of them. And if she didn't, the dimension's guardian, Lance, _would._

Lance. She needed him, needed to wait for him. He would save them. He wouldn't let so much pain happen to his family, to his friends, to the people he loved. This wasn't going to last, it couldn't, it _couldn't--_

"AHH!" Ara let out a louder cry as her body crashed to the ground, her back crushing the frail bones of her wings. Her captor had unhooked the chain wrapped around her legs, letting her collapse. They stared over her, more light bleeding in around the blood caking Ara's eyelashes. A man, they were a man, a rugged masked man with eagerness in his every motion. Her eyes squeezed themselves shut as he went to remove the mask. She didn't want to see his face.

She could hear the grin in his voice as he took a knife and sliced the duct tape around her calves, "This is going to be _fun."_ He pried her legs apart, unbuttoned her jeans, forced the denim down past her feathered thighs.

No, no no, this couldn't be happening. Ara was _not_ going to let this happen. Summoning every ounce of strength, she forced a bare leg up, letting it contact with whatever flesh she could find. The clattering of the knife let her know she hit her true target, the sensitive genitalia. A thud - he fell against the wall, grasping at his injury, his breath a wheeze.

 _Fast, work fast._ Ara scrambled on numb limbs to grab for the bars of the cell's door, pushing her lips between and screaming. "HELP ME!" She cried, hot tears leaking out again. "MOM, LANCE, HELP ME!"

She didn't hear the man's recovery beneath her own calls, didn't hear how the knife scraped the concrete as he picked it back up. He stepped once, twice, covering the distance, staring down at his prey with pure anger. "No one can hear you, birdie," he grinned.

Ara turned her head back to him, coughing, spitting blood at his feet before snarling. "Lance can. And he'll kill every last one of you."

"He's abandoned you." He reached down and lifted her up, slamming her against the bars, grinning even wider as her wings cracked further. "He's abandoned all of you." The knife brushed against her cheek, tracing one of her many scars. She pulled her face away but earned punishment, the knife slicing in, reopening ancient wounds. "And you're going to _pay_ for kicking me, you little bitch."

Ara closed her eyes again, forcing darkness on herself, even if unconsciousness didn't follow. She didn't want to see. She didn't want to feel. And after her head collided with the floor, the man mounting her with enraged fervor, she didn't feel a thing.


	2. In the Hands of the Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 2: In the Hands of the Enemy - "Pick who Dies"/Collars/Kidnapped
> 
> This work revolves around Sun, a girl who yearned for something _more_ in life. During her travels, she found Fenne, and the two quickly became fast friends and lovers. Together, the teenage women adopted a mysterious boy named Haku, ready to raise him as their son.
> 
> TW: Swearing, child abuse, drugging, cult, electric shock, burnt flesh, kicking, bone breaking, choking

"You're _kidding."_

Sun stared at the man behind the desk, rage building in her chest. Kinfolk was his name. A presidential candidate. A real piece of shit. He wanted to tear apart the world, break down everything and rebuild anew with the Powerless. He was a bigot, a bastard, and Sun hated him with every bone in her body.

She used to love him. Used to revere him. That lasted about thirty minutes before he electrocuted Sun, her girlfriend Fenne, their adopted son Haku. Before he shoved them into the back of a truck and drugged them. Before he beat Haku to a bloody mess in front of the two seventeen-year-olds. Before he beat and broke Fenne as Sun could only watch.

He was a leader, naturally. A cultist. A monster. A ringmaster of a gaggle of rich assholes that bought and sold Empowered like cattle. And he had Sun's mind and heart in an iron grip.

"You sincerely think I am someone who kids, scum?" Kinfolk stared down his nose at a bound Sun. This was no time for joking. "I asked you a question. Choose. Who. Dies."

Sun shook her white-haired head, defiance lingering in her tired silver eyes. "Fuck you! I'm not doing that!" The words had barely left her lips before electricity sparked up through her arm, radiating from the _fun friendship bracelet_ she had so willingly put on. Oh, how she wanted to cut off her hand, slip off the bracelet and bash Kinfolk's skull in with it. How she wanted to _scream,_ make his body vibrate with her sound, make his organs liquefy into a disgusting corrupted slime.

She would be satisfied with just a bullet between his eyes.

"If you don't choose, they _both_ die," he sneered. "And I'm sure you don't want to lose your son _and_ your lover."

Sun fought to catch her breath, pressing her palm to her chest and coughing. Burning flesh, the scent wafted up to her nose, her wrist sure to be permanently scarred. _How long does it take to saw a limb off with a plastic fork?_ Desperation was slipping in. _Maybe Fenne can just break my thumb and then I slip this stupid thing off and finally fucking LEAVE._

"What will it be?" He leaned forward, steepling his fingers and resting his elbows on the desk. "The berserk bitch or the broken bastard?"

 _"No,"_ she snarled out, electricity bringing her to a knee. She clenched her jaw, desperate to not give him the satisfaction of hearing her cries of pain. She was not giving up, she was not letting him win. How could she choose? How could she possibly choose?

 _If Fenne dies, her big brother Lance will come and kill you for choosing her to die,_ her own conscious began to debate the choices. _If Haku dies, Fenne will wring your neck and scream at you, saying you should have chosen her._ Not helpful. There was no choice, no possible way to decide. How could he make her choose, how _dare_ he make her choose?!

"Fine. Here. Because you are such a pathetic piece of _shit,_ I'll make this easy on you." Kinfolk stood, walking around the desk and approaching Sun. He tilted her head up, forcing her to stare up at him. "One. Or Two. Just pick. One, or Two."

Silence followed his words. Sun refused, she _refused_ to answer this monster's questions. He slapped her, and with a grin, she turned her other cheek and growled, "Thank you sir, may I please have another?"

He delivered. Again, and again. His voice grew steadily louder. "One, or Two?"

Once more, she offered silence. Once more, he struck.

"One, or Two?!"

Not a peep. Her cheeks were red and raw, blood dripping from her nose.

"ONE, OR TWO?!"

She spat blood up at his chest, and the next hit sent her crashing to the floor. He began to kick, relishing in every crunch of bones against the steel toe of his boot. She was breaking, and he could tell by the tears that slipped out and down her dark skin, betraying her calm.

He pressed his boot to her neck.

_"ONE, OR TWO?!"_

"TWO!..."

 _"Say. It. Again."_ He pressed his foot down on her throat, the girl gasping out, eyes wide and scared.

"Two!... Two, two, fucking TWO!"

Kinfolk pulled his foot back, the slow grin returning to his face. "Thank you, Sunshine." He returned to his desk, letting her get up, letting her gently nurse the forming bruises and battered ribs. "You may go back to your room."

"Fuck... you..." Sun whispered, her breathing growing more and more ragged as she stood and limped to the door.

"Oh, Sunshine?" She looked back, glaring daggers. Kinfolk had a wide wicked smile on his face, one that would haunt her for years.

_"Remember, you chose this."_


	3. My Way or the Highway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 3 - My Way or the Highway - Manhandled/Forced to their Knees/Held at Gunpoint 
> 
> This work revolves around Simon. He's the younger half-brother of Lance, a fact that has left him in the shadow of greatness for a long time. So often, he has struggled with the idea that he is not good enough - but he is healing, and he is getting stronger. He is Prim and Titan's biological son, with Kian being his second father. He is the older brother to Fenne.
> 
> TW: Swearing, hand injury, starving, guns, stabbing, shooting

Simon stared over his sleeping girlfriend's body, sunlight just barely peeking through the tattered curtains. They were out of food, their last meal of crushed ramen and canned chicken leaving his stomach gnawing, chomping at the bit, eager for food. He was using too much energy too carelessly - it was making him eat more and more than he should have.

He was always sure to leave enough for her, make sure Velvet was well fed and happy. She meant everything to him, even though it took nearly a decade for their relationship to move past her aloof status and his wretched flirting, even though it took disaster and the threat of death around every corner to push them together.

How he wanted to knock those bullies off their egomaniac pedestals, cut them down to size for insulting her. She had rabbit ears, and they found that hilarious, mockable, thought she was an easy target that never fought back. But whenever he got the chance, he faltered, he stuttered and failed and cursed himself for such inadequacy. Why couldn't he be like his older brother, Lance? Why couldn't he intimidate people?

A sigh left his lips as he strode to the rotted desk. They took shelter in an abandoned home, a blow-up mattress and shoddy thin blanket their only comfort aside from each other. Paper, there had to be paper, right? Wrong. No luck. No easy way to leave a note. Simon pursed his lips tight before an idea struck.

He picked up an old plank and dug his knife from his pocket, carving a simple message. "LEFT 4 FOOD." He stared it over, hating how short and curt it was, but he had no choice. Gripping it tighter, wood begging to dig into his hand, he drew a jagged heart at the end and set it by her backpack. She would see it, she had to, she just had to.

Glancing over her once more, he grabbed his backpack and pulled it on before silently stepping outside, venturing off in search of... anything. Gas station, convenience store, whatever he could find that had food. He had money tucked away in his pocket, a bandana around his neck ready to disguise himself with the ballcap he started wearing.

He had to hide himself, hide his face, hide his Power. He was wanted, a warrant out, his family vilified by President Kinfolk and the Powerless public. There was no doubt in his mind that his parents had been caught; well, there was a chance his father lived. Titan escaped, returned to his home planet to retrieve aid to tear Kinfolk apart. But Titan's wife Prim, their husband Kian, their names vanished out of the newspapers Simon would check. They weren't being hunted anymore.

Pebbles of asphalt crunched under his heavy boots as he traveled along the shoulder of the deserted highway. Every now and then, a car would pass, wind ruffling his brown hair, wavering his body with their speed. Stay steady, stay strong. Keep your knife close by, keep your eyes ahead, keep your jaw clenched and your face hidden.

The crunching grew louder as a car slowed, pulling over to the shoulder in front of Simon. _Shit._ He backed up, ready to run, ready to bolt into the woods. Two doors opened - the driver and the shotgun passenger - and two tall older men climbed out. _Shit shit shit._ He backed up further, eyes widening as his heel slipped off the side of the shoulder, sending him onto his backpack in the grass.

"Woaaaah, hey kid!" The driver walked closer, offering a leathery hand to help Simon up. "Easy, easy. We just wanna make sure you're okay." Simon was reluctant, staring with terrified green eyes. "Hey, we don't want trouble. You look tired, hungry. We just wanna help."

Hesitation lingered before Simon reached for the man's hand. He was lifted with ease, finding sturdy footing and breathing his thanks. His eyes flitted to the other man, the passenger, watching warily, before the driver caught his attention again.

"You feeling good? That was a crazy fall."

Simon nodded slightly. "Yeah. My ankle kinda hurts but I'm fine. Sorry, you guys... scared me."

The driver smacked his lips and patted Simon's shoulder. "Makes sense. Gotta be smart out here. Not anyone for miles. No one can hear ya." There was something lingering on those words. Violence? A threat? Simon tried to look to the passenger but the driver spoke once more. "So, got a name, kid?"

"Yeah," he stuttered out. "John. John Scott." Did he feel wrong stealing the former name of dimensional hero, Dead? Somewhat. But John Scott was erased from systems, forgotten. He was only ever known as "Dead." The statue that once stood in New York, commemorating his sacrifice against Aamon, only read "Dead" for a name on its plaque. But "Simon Kiyomasa" was a household name at this point.

"Well John," the older man grinned, his teeth crooked and stained by tobacco. "You don't gotta fear us. We'll get you sorted out right quick." The passenger was getting even closer, his hands tucked in the front of his camo hoodie pockets. What was he hiding?

Simon backed away again, making sure his footing was stable this time. "No, no, I'm. I'm okay. It's okay. I'm just walking to town." His stomach growled suddenly, forcing a bandaged hand to his gut. "Just hungry. It's okay. It's--"

"Kid, you're not okay." Something glinted in the driver's eyes. _Greed._ "How's about we give you a little bit of food... what's it worth to you?"

No, no, this was a scam, he knew how this shit worked. They'd take everything and leave him with scraps. _"I'm fine--"_

"No ya ain't." Simon froze as the cold metal of a gun barrel pressed itself to his neck. When the hell did the passenger get so close, why were they doing this?! "Wallet. Now. Nice and slow."

Simon refused to budge, his breath hitching in his throat. His mind flitted to Lance, wondering what his older brother would do. Oh, right, he'd use that intimidation Simon oh so failed at. There was no time to talk. He'd have to give in, have to--

"I SAID, GIVE ME YOUR FUCKING WALLET!" The passenger suddenly exploded with rage at Simon's hesitation. He grabbed the Empowered by the arm and forced him to his knees, barrel pressed to his temple. The driver shook his head, letting out a laugh at his companion's antics. "DO I HAVE TO REPEAT MYSELF?"

His eyes wide and fearful, Simon dug into his pocket. His hand brushed against his wallet, fingers instead wrapping around his knife. He pulled it out quickly, flicking it open and stabbing it into the side of the passenger's calf. The blade scraped right against bone, digging deep. "BACK OFF, ASSHOLE!" The passenger shrieked, gun falling from his hands as he stepped away and fumbled for the knife stuck in his leg.

Simon grabbed for the fallen gun, pulling the hammer back and aiming up at the driver. The driver narrowed his eyes, staring back. "Now listen, Simon. You don't gotta worry about me. You just need to worry about the cops when we get your reward money."

 _He recognized me._ Simon's mind began to slip into a panic. _He fucking recognized me._ Unraveling, he looked over at the passenger, the man still struggling to rip the knife out. Back to the driver, Simon knew that this couldn't end well. There was no way it could. They would tell about how he was spotted in this area.

"You should've kept driving," he growled, gripping the handgun tighter. He was right. They should've kept driving. Maybe they would have been able to leave alive. As he pulled the trigger, his panicked mind was set.

The driver stumbled back, his body hitting the asphalt with a thud. The passenger yelled, dug the knife out, charging Simon. Simon turned on his hip and fired once, twice, a cry of pain leaving his own lips as the knife dug into the meat of his upper chest. Just between the clavicle and second rib - he was going to be hurting even more later. There was no healing Power for this - the influx would draw authorities right to them.

Simon pushed the passenger off of him and steadily stood, his breath shaky, his hands still and calm. He gathered what he could from their car and began his long walk back to Velvet. In one hand was a heavy bag stuffed with food and supplies, and the other was the gun, the heavy weapon feeling so cold in his bloody hands.


	4. Running Out of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 4: Running Out of Time - Caged/Buried Alive
> 
> This work revolves around Jeremy, a man who can manipulate time - at a great cost to his stamina. His world was devastated when he was a baby, and he was found and adopted by Jay and Rose. Rose had their daughter, Bella, not long after adopting Jeremy. He has a wife, Star, and a son named Christopher.
> 
> TW: swearing, suffocation, claustrophobia, hand injury, splinters, blood

Out.

_Out._

Get _out._

Jeremy's world had become focused on one lone sentiment. Escape. Try to claw his way out of the dark wooden box he was shoved into. Splinters dug their way into his fingertips. The scent of iron coated the inside of his nose. Every breath was more and more labored.

The auction was quick, relatively speaking. Everything was quick. The life he built with his wife. The twelve-hour labor for her to birth their son. How the election came and passed and their world was ripped apart. Star had been sent away, sent to an alternate dimension with Christopher, with his sister Bella, with others. She was safe there, he reminded himself, and so he stayed.

_Fight. Get out._

Jeremy stayed in New York, stayed to fight the new presidency, stayed to help his family. His father Jay, his aunts Dakota and Andromeda, the three all led heavy resistance after Ara was arrested. And Jeremy was right with them, right until their capture. After that, he was hunted. He was too Powerful. Time Manipulation wasn't something to be played with, and _they_ knew it.

He could just barely remember the auction. Strutted on a stage, paraded before a crowd of shadows. His "sins" were shouted to the rafters with a fervor that drove the shades into a frothing rabid rage. The sins were dredged up from his grandfather, Dead, blame placed on the deceased man's family. _He's not really my grandfather,_ a voice inside Jeremy wanted to scream. _I'm adopted, seriously, I'm not related to him at all!_

_Scratch. Claw. Get out._

Did his father experience the same thing? Did he experience worse? After all, Oden yelled Jay's name for the whole planet to hear, just before the War of New York. He could have easily been blamed for the War even happening, blamed for the deaths of the planet's three greatest heroes - Dead, Hatti, and Lance.

Lance. Where the hell was he? Fucking off with his other powerful "Celestial" friends? Distracted? Jeremy's family was _missing_ and Lance was more focused on a different dimension. How _could_ he? Was his family not worth fighting for?

_I have to get out._

Jeremy let out a cough, his forehead hitting the pitch black wooden plank in front of him. Was it a coffin? A treasure trunk? Every so often, the wood would creak under someone's weight, as if he was nothing but a chair, curled up and aching. His spine was begging for him to straighten out, stretch and spread and breathe again.

He had tried to get help. Stole a boat after his mother and father were taken, sailed for other countries, other lands, trying to drag back people to help him save his family and friends. But even though he tried, he struggled so hard and fought to the last breath, he failed. They captured him. They sold him. They locked him in a box.

_GET ME OUT OF HERE!_

Hot tears began to streak as he slammed an open palm on the wood above his face. Splinters tore at his skin, forcing more blood to drip onto his cheeks. He tried to kick, his bare foot's meager smack hardly generating any noise. Muffled, completely muffled and left to suffer.

_Tick._

He punched the wood, feeling every little cut, every little foreign object left in his skin. How he wished he could speed up time, alter it, make it so the agony was impossible to even feel. Every second dragged by, every single second, one after the other.

_Tock._

His mind flitted to Star. She was safe, right? She had to be safe. Jay wouldn't send her somewhere dangerous. He was smart. That dimension was safe. She was safe. She was safe.

_Tick._

Was his son okay? Christopher was always an odd one, a biter. His Power, still budding, was clearly influenced by Star's bloodbending addiction.

_Tock._

Jeremy could feel his chest tightening, his head throbbing. It was getting harder to keep his eyes open.

_Tick._

Come on. Stay awake, stay awake. Keep fighting. Keep fighting, for Star, for Chris.

_Tock._

How did this eternal darkness get even darker?

_Time's up._


	5. Where Do You Think You're Going?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 5: Where do you think You're going? - On the Run/Failed Escape
> 
> This work revolves around Xya, a woman who was experimented on at a young age by an evil scientist. She was adopted, taken to another dimension, but after that dimension faced extreme conflict, she was returned to her original home - with intense amnesia. She is a werewolf as a result of those experiments, and after more demonic experiments upon her return, she met Jak, the son of Satan who would become her mate.
> 
> TW: swearing, guns, starvation, cannibalism, deep puncture, muzzling, vomiting, blood, filth

The crack of a gunshot filled the air, echoing around Xya as she ran. Bare, her ribs showing, her jaw involuntarily clenched tight. Run, run fast, run far. Find food. Food. Deity above and Satan below, how she _hungered._

They were gaining on her, ready to grab her, sedate her, lock her back up in that pitiful tiny cage where, no matter where Xya sat, she was touching a wall. Too small, too tight, too cramped. She couldn't stretch, express herself, feel _free._ They kept her locked away, locked so tight, like an animal at a circus.

_She couldn't take it anymore._

At her last feeding, human flesh named "Yuna" ready to be shoveled into her mouth by forceful hands, she fought against her feeder. She pushed past, slippery, quick, found her way out of their cabin, and took off into the moonless night.

Her breath was growing ragged, weak. They were gaining on her, step by step. Was the gunshot aimed at her? Or was it an attempt to warn her? Show her they "meant business," that if they caught her, she was sure to die?

A cry of pain forced itself past her dry lips as she tripped, a branch lodging itself in her hip. She rolled onto her back, the crunch of leaves a companion to the silence she was left in. The branch was lodged, and lodged _deep._ She wrapped both her hands around it, agitating it further. Bad decisions were abound in this weak and starved girl's mind, but she pulled, drawing a further cry.

She pulled away from the branch, hands moving up to the muzzle strapped to her face. She tugged, whimpering, whining. An effective tool to keep the werewolf's maw shut no matter the phase of the moon. Two straps ran to the back of her head from the cage on her face - one above her ear, one below. Another ran from the top, up her forehead and to the back, meeting with the others in a lock system. And she lacked the key.

There was another lock, on the front of the muzzle. They would unlock it and pour a cup of water in, not giving a damn if any actually got in her mouth. And, once a week, they would shove her next meal in there with heavy gloved hands, leaving the lingering taste of leather on the human they fed her.

They explained it once, no, more than once. Many times. That they would frequent auctions, buy kids, buy the cheap ones nobody wants. Bring them back to their remote cabin, kill them, slice them up. Give the bones to the dogs, give the meat to the wolf. They even knew how to perfectly freeze the flesh. What happened to the organs? Did these bastards also eat what they fed her?

Every bite had a name. They showed Xya a picture after every meal. The first few times, it made her vomit, her mind rejecting what her body desired. But eventually, she stopped caring. Her eyes glazed over upon seeing the picture. She had to keep the food down if she wanted to live.

They still hadn't cleaned up the spill of vomit, or the refuse her body barely produced with such little intake. She could smell it, how it painted her thighs, her hands. She existed in filth, in misery, in disgust. They were going to pay, they _had_ to pay.

_Jak will make them pay._

Xya's eyes focused on the starry sky between the branches and leaves. Could they see her? Could her mate's mother and sister, nestled in Heaven, angels from birth, could they see how she suffered? She reached a bloody hand up, another whimper slipping out. _Save me,_ she wanted to cry. _Save me, find me, bring me home to Jak._

Was he searching for her? Was he relentlessly hunting? Was his demon half overriding the angel half and overloading his mind with anger and desperation?

Did he even love her enough to care?

Her hand fell limp at her side, the other moving back to wrap around the branch. It stayed lodged, stuck, dripping dirt onto her already filthy skin. Of course he loved her. They had mated, he cared for her, he killed for her. He, as the Crown Prince of Hell, son of Satan Himself, set aside a safe section in Hell for her to shift in and punish sinners. How she missed that haven, despite hardly remembering it the next morning.

But where was he? She escaped, she left that damn cabin, couldn't Pam see her? Couldn't his angel mother spare Xya a single second of time?

Lightning cracked across the sky, another gunshot echoing the wailing melody that followed. Pera. Pam was focused on her sister, Pera. Xya couldn't blame her. The once-angel was corrupted by demonic magic, becoming violent and horrifying. She absorbed Pam's entire attention. Which meant...

_I'm alone._

Where was this "Lance" everyone talked about? The man everyone was sure would save this world? _Where did he go?_ Couldn't he spare two minutes and rescue her?

Footsteps drew closer, crunching leaves and branches without a care. Xya closed her eyes, praying he wouldn't see her, praying she was hidden and safe. But as the steps stopped at her feet, she knew she was wrong. One golden eye opened, staring up at her captor. He was a disgusting man, always reeking of sweat, his sloppily shaven beard ringing a mouth that spit only insults and tobacco.

"Well, hello Puppy," he grinned, grabbing the branch and ripping it out of her. She clenched her jaw tighter, closing her eyes again, her cry of pain suppressed. He leaned down, grabbed her neck, and lifted her up. She gasped, wheezed, weakly clawing at his hand as her breath weakened. "Where do you think you're goin'?"


	6. Please...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 6: Please... - "Get it Out"/"Stop, Please."
> 
> This work revolves around Pera, an angel who sings in the Deity's choir with one of the most beautiful voices in all of Heaven. She has fallen ill with a demonic corruption, and her sister, Pam (who is wife of Satan, mother of Jak and Serena), is trying her best to cleanse the demonic energies. 
> 
> TW: swearing, Zalgo text, possession, body horror, cage, blood, begging, fire

_"Ạ̵̓̚k̷̰͒͘b̷͕͛f̵̪̍j̸̺̺͗͝m̴̼̅͜ ǧ̴̲̲k̵͈̃c̶͙̽͝i̵͚͛k̷͕͑ḓ̶̡̾ ̸͇̈́ṡ̷̡̇b̸̙̗͊d̸̡̄͑."_

"Yes, I know."

_"A̶͉̽͛b̷̹̹̕̕k̶̳̊f̵͙̈ṇ̸̃ ̴̙̼̉͘g̵̨̱̔͆k̵͔̋f̴̮͑̾ͅj̶̗̅s̴̞͗̿h̸̼͐b̵̝̩̒̊f̶̛̹̎k̵͖͈̄g̶̜̽͝i̶̤̺͋͝ǵ̶̩̈́ȍ̸̤͓ ̴̺̉ḵ̶̎v̶͔̄̋k̷̘͜v̷̡̄̌ͅl̷͚̉͠d̷͖̂͘ ̴̥̜̎k̵̬̇̕g̸̛̯̰͆j̶̱͓̿̏b̶̡̨͐̌r̸͉̐j̶̡̝̉c̵̯͔̈̾k̶͚͆̓f̸̙̉k̴̛͕̞."_

"Yes, yes..."

_"A̴̭̾͜j̷̝͉̐̇f̶̝͌͊b̵̧̍̔ǩ̴̤̔ ̷͖̣͋̒v̷͎͇̿̚o̷̝̿g̷̻̐̇?"_

"..If I can help it."

Pam held the woman in her arms tighter, brushing a hand through her pink hair. Numerous black eyes with bright red pupils dotted the woman's skin, only one focusing on Pam. White ivory horns curled from her head, broken in the middle, her halo transformed and shattered.

Pera was lost. At least, that was what every other angel tried to tell Pam, tried to tell her that her sister was not worth trying to save. An angel, corrupted by demonic magic? There was no fixing that. No saving someone fallen that far. Her wings had abandoned her, singed off by the deviation away from the Deity.

But Pam didn't give a damn what the others said. She never had. She ignored their sneers as she married Satan and bore two children for him. They said she was twisted. Controlled. No. She was in _love._ The Deity was made of Love. They were betraying their own nature by shunning such love, no matter who it was between.

_"O̵̤͐̃n̷̪͆̉͜f̴͑͜j̵̫̐ḻ̵̅̓s̵̼͌͛n̷̠̗͐̋f̶͕̬̀k̴̰̲̆̏f̷̬̚?"_

Pam looked back down at her sister. Her speech was slowly returning, trapped in an ancient tongue of the angels that could not even begin to be comprehended by mortals. "Yes, Pera?" The fallen angel was beginning to tremble, and many of the eyes focused on the cage on the far side of Pam's room. "I'm not putting you back in there--"

_"N̷͕̦͗f̸̖̞̅n̶̙̐ņ̶̭̅f̸̗͗j̸̧̍a̸̯̋m̸̨͎̃̿n̷̫̊ ̵͝ͅö̸͓g̵̡̛k̷̙͊f̵͕͛͝!"_

Reluctance filled Pam's body. "Please do," her sister had begged. The demon side was starting to win again, spelling potential violence for both of them. The cage had been placed there when Pera was rescued - she had started clawing Pam's skin and leaving deep scratches during her thrashing fits.

Pera could sense how her mind was slipping, faltering, failing. She knew she didn't want to hurt Pam, she knew that she was dangerous. The cage was the only way to prevent that. _Please, please put me in there, please don't let me hurt you, please, Pam! Please, before I gouge out your eyes and rip out your entrails and FEAST on what I CRAVE!_

Pam stood, holding her sister in a bridal position, hugging her close before carrying her to the cage. She nudged open the door with her foot before setting Pera in the pile of pillows - such an arrangement was always Pera's favorite way to sleep, upon a mound of pillows with far too many blankets. She almost looked normal, nestled like this... almost.

A snarl built up in Pera's throat, eyes trained on Pam in an eternal hunger. Pam stepped back out of the cage and shut it, locking it, sighing as she returned to her bed. "I'm sorry," she whispered, staring at the feral woman.

_"K̶͙̣̈K̶̹͖̽̐F̷͔͉͗̎Ḅ̴͖̓I̵̻͍͝S̴̥̫̆N̷̢̰̈́̊A̸̩̒H̷͇̼͐̂F̴̥̓K̸̡̞͗̎G̴̩̅ ̵̛̖̘͝K̵͉̕S̴͎͉̚N̸̳̚C̴͖̔K̵̰̰̏V̴͈̦̄K̸̼̎͋ ̸̹͛A̶̠̬̋̏Ì̸̼̑F̶̛͈́N̴̤̐F̴̮͍̋͝O̷̝̊̕G̴͕̤̍!!!"_

Pam flinched at her words. "I'll chew out your tongue and cut out your heart." No, no she wouldn't. Pam had been close enough while Pera's mind was devolved, close enough to be clawed and bit, but she only ever suffered those minimal healable injuries. Pera had restraint. No matter how much she denied it, she had restraint.

The next noise Pera emitted was a screech. It made lightning sprawl across the clouds of Heaven, a haunting melody following the sight. No one on the surface paid attention to the lightning, none except Xya.

Xya was Pam's only reference for what Pera was experiencing. Her son, Jak, had called to his mother and brought her to a clearing in the woods. Before them was a werewolf, large, wild, muscles aching and begging for rest. She had been shifted for two straight weeks - the man who corrupted Pera had done it to Xya first. She bore demonic features of many kinds, but her mind was wearing thin, peeking through the cracks and showing how she still _existed_ inside that shell.

Pera was close to that stage, but it was taking much, much longer. Still, she clawed her way back to sanity more and more every day, making progress once thought impossible. It was hard for Pam to look at her. She felt nothing but sadness. Pain. Maybe that boy, Lance, could save her? He had the Power of healing, even spiritual healing. If only he was around, if only he was here and could fix her--

_"P̴̘̎ǎ̸͔̱m̷̛̩̹̂?"_

Pam's head jolted back to look at Pera, her eyes widening. How much time had passed? And did... did Pera really just--

_"G̴͚͛ḛ̷̋t̷̼̅̾ ̶̯͍̈́͌i̵̺͋t̵̯͝ ̶͕̯̿͑o̴͈͋̆ủ̴̞̱t̸͎̯̐̆."_

Get it out? Get what out? Pam rose to a standing position and walked closer. Her sister was forming words, Common words. They may have been multi-toned, spoken in their ancient tones echoing "Be Not Afraid," but they were present-day words. Words the angels spoke now, not then, not the words that have not been spoken since the Earth was new.

_"Ñ̶̼̚ō̴̹̤̓ ̵̪͋̈́m̵̛͉o̴̱͝ř̷̥̿ͅe̶̬̅, ̶͕̱̃́ṕ̷̡͚ḻ̷͔́e̸̬̱̚ā̷̗͆s̷̭̽e̸̳̤͒̈́. ̵̼̩͒̄G̴̩͊ė̷͓̩̏t̸̲̥̋ ̶̱̄i̵̾͜t̴͎̥ ̶̫̐ō̶͕ű̷̻̓t̶̯̂͝, ̴̧̒p̵̼̒ḷ̸̨͂̅e̷͖̓͝a̸̟̖̚s̵͈͗e̷̗͂."_

"Get what out?" Pam asked, placing a hand on one metal bar. "What's inside you? What do you need out?"

Pera paused for a moment, eyes slowly blinking. She was struggling, her mind hazy, fogged. She could hardly focus her attention on the sister she so adored. Pain ached in the middle of her back, in the center of her chest, in the palms of her hands and along her shattered halo. She could feel it, feel its fangs biting down on her nape, its claws digging into her wrists and controlling her like its puppet. Out. That was what she wanted out.

But Pam could not see it, could not see what Pera felt. She could not see the demonic spirit that the monster Rutherford - a bastard betrayer Empowered working for Kinfolk - had fused with her body. Xya could not even see it when she was controlled. None could see it. But Pera could. Pera could and she wanted it _out._

_"D̷͕͛͋ͅe̷̤͛m̸͕͆͆͜ö̸͕̦ṉ̸̞͋. ̵̡̛͍̅Ǫ̸̫̂͋û̴͓́t̶̘̥̑͠. ̶̭̜̅N̵̪̚o̶̺͊w̸̡͉͘. N̶̟͔̆̌ó̵͇̀ẅ̵̨̟́͌w̶̭̞͝w̸̠͗̋a̶͕͂h̶̦͋̈́h̷̩͇͐h̴̛͙͚̾!"_

Her words were slipping again, her throat betraying her. Her hand flew to her throat, claws digging in, a melody ringing out as she cried in frustration. The demon wanted control again, wanted blood, wanted to fight. It wanted to _kill._

Pera pulled her hand away from her throat and grabbed Pam's wrist through the bar, pulling her against the metal. The angel let out her own cry, startled, eyes widening as Pera stabbed her claws in and kept her there.

"Pera, it's me, it's--" Pam fought back another whine as those claws scraped against bone. A burning flame surged in her chest, Power creeping up, threatening to burst out and injure her sister. She had never grabbed this hard before, never had every single hungry eye trained on Pam at once.

_"A̴͍̅b̷̮͠ͅg̶̼̰̓̚i̷̙̐̓n̷̳͝g̸̿ͅn̵͔̑̈́ȅ̷̙͉ȉ̷͔s̶͖̪̔͠ ̶̧̺̈͊c̷̬̿́k̷̻̄ṅ̸͎f̸͎͗̎i̴͎̎g̸̣͑͘ň̴̬̼̕v̷̮̓ͅ!"_

_"PERA!"_ Pam's voice squeaked out as her holy blood dripped to the wood floor. The pain was blinding, stretching up her arm, making her dizzy and delirious. "Let me go, let-- Let GO!" A blaze burst from her fingertips, startling her sister, forcing her back to the nest to stare in horror.

_"Ḧ̴̱́̕u̶̡̩͝ȑ̸̼̘ẗ̸͎̓͜ ̶̩̫̈́͊m̷̝̲̿͝e̷̡͑̓... ̸͌P̷̹͉͂̓a̵̅́͜m̵̞̾... ̵̠͕̑H̷̱̦͆͠ṳ̸̖͘r̶̡̲͆t̵͔̍ ̸̦͍̉̓m̶̛̦̎ĕ̸̝̬̕..."_

A lump rose in Pam's throat as she began healing her own injuries. "You're fine, the fire didn't even touch you," she attempted to reassure her sister, but it came out in such a chiding tone. "You're okay."

Pera was far from okay. As she stared at her sister, she felt anger bubble up at such lies. The demon's invisible jaw tightened on her neck. She was scared now, scared of her caretaker, her captor.

Progress had been reset.


	7. I've Got You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 7: I've Got You - Support/Enemy to Caretaker
> 
> This work revolves around Kian, a man who has been more places in the universe than anyone else on Earth. He has been married twice, to the lovely Prim and to the handsome Titan, the three existing in a beautiful poly relationship. Lance is his biological son, and Fenne is technically both his and Titan's biological daughter - fusion can be a fun thing to play around with. Simon is Titan's son, but the boy sees both as his father regardless.
> 
> TW: swearing, restrained, bruising, broken bones, needles, stitches, alcohol

"Come on, keep your head up." A woman pressed her palms on the either side of Kian's cheeks, trying to lift his weary head. "You can't pass out now. They'll be disappointed."

Kian pulled away from her as much as he could, grunting in pain. The leather strap around his throat dug in deeper, the buckle's edge sharp and cutting into the skin. "Don't touch me," he mumbled, his head threatening to loll to the side and _snap._

The woman pursed her lips before glancing back behind her. There was a mirror, no, not just a mirror, a _one-way mirror_ stretching across the wall. She caught her own reflection, how disheveled she looked, how bruises sprawled across her exposed shoulder-blades. _Damn, Trixie, how did you get this far?_ she looked back at Kian, at the battered man who claimed he was a god. _Working for those bastards just to lessen your own punishment? Despicable._ She told herself this every day at this point - every day for six years.

"If you're going to hit me again... hurry the fuck up and do it." Kian's wavering breath was a snarl as he focused his blue eyes on the woman. "Get this over with and then _leave me alone."_ As he stared, he could tell. Vision was fading from his left eye, his scarred eye. His captors loved to hit that side of his head, bruise the skull, aggravate the ancient scar.

She placed her hand on his left cheek, rubbing her thumb along the lower edge of the scar. "I don't want to hit you, you know," she whispered. "But they'll hurt me if I don't hurt you." She felt selfish telling this to his face, but she had to tell him the truth. Show him her reluctance. Maybe he wouldn't kill her when he finally escaped.

Of course, how could he escape? Every time he was healed, a new limb was broken, the sickening _crack_ becoming a familiar noise to his ears. Be it an arm, a leg, a cluster of ribs - it didn't matter. Their owners wanted Kian in the worst conditions possible before forcing him to work in the quarry, breaking rock with a shoddy pick in the nonstop rain.

He spoke so often of Lance. His son. A man with power beyond imagining. He was going to save them, of course. Some day. Was it soon? Was it a century from now? How did he not lose hope in this hellish situation? Trixie had been with these owners for years before Kinfolk was elected, bowing to their orders and hiding from the chopping block. Her hope was lost long ago.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, pulling her hand back. She punched again, sending his head lolling to the side. A bruise was forming under his left eye along the scarring. "I have to put on a show."

 _"Fuck you..."_ Was he, too, putting on a show? When they were left alone, not a slaver around, he always checked on her, making sure she was safe and healthy and fine. She didn't want to hit him again, but electricity began to crackle in the bracelet on her wrist, their captors impatient.

"I'm so sorry..." Another punch, and there was a _pop >/i> of her fingers breaking against bone._

_*_

_Kian woke a while later, his head heavy against the hard pillow. Trixie was by his bedside, an alcohol-soaked cotton swab in her hand. She lightly dabbed the swab at the bruise on his cheek, concern lacing her tired eyes._

_"Why are you..." He coughed out his words, startling her. A guilty looked covered her face as she went back to work at his cheek, refusing to answer him. "Hey, didn't you hear me, why are you--"_

_"Because I'm not a monster," she spat back. Setting the swab down, she grabbing a curved needle and thread, dropping the needle into the whisky bottle. She pulled it out by the thread before taking a swig of the whisky. "Now. Don't move. I accidentally broke the skin when I punched you, it needs some stitching since I can't find a dang Band-Aid anywhere in this place."_

_Kian remained unwaveringly still, watching her, eyeing her every move. His face scrunched as the needle pressed into his cheek, drawing a curse and forehead smack from Trixie. "I said don't move. I've done this to myself many times, just trust me. I've got you." Taking a deep breath to keep her hand steady, she slid the needle through the other side, pulling the thread taut._

_All along the minor cut, she continued, leaving four stitches in his cheek that she tied off. Her fingers had trembled the entire time, middle and ring finger definitely each broken against the man's face. Punching was the method the captors always told her to use - why? What were his Powers?_

_Her eyes grew hazy and distant until Kian cleared his throat, bringing her back to their horrid reality. "Sorry, I... want a drink?" She lifted the whisky to him, and he eagerly took a large swig before handing it back._

_"Thank you," he muttered as she sipped her drink again. She raised an eyebrow, concerned, confused. "For helping me, I guess... you hit hard but not as hard as them."_

_"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" A breathy laugh escaped her lips. She kept staring at him, at his scar, at those brilliant blue eyes. He was... otherworldly. Was he an alien of some sort? "Tell me about yourself, Kian, I'm so curious."_

_He blinked before shaking his head. "I'd rather not," he mumbled. Thoughts of his family flickered into his mind. Where were his children? Simon was slipped out of the registration building by cops - was he in the same situation, or was he safe? Why was Lance so late when he was always so on-time? What happened to Fenne, why was her phone plan turned off? She was hiking across the country with her girlfriend and adopted son, where had she gone?_

__Please stay away from Earth, Titan,_ Kian found his conscious begging. On a good day, maybe his husband could hear the message. But this wasn't a good day, or a good year. Their wife, Prim, was taken right at the same time as Kian. They fought until their bitter end as family friend and orphanage owner, Michi, helped others escape and survive. How they both wanted to escape, to flee and stay running, stay fighting. But they had to make the last stand, distract the enemy, fight beside each other like they hadn't in years. For Simon, for Fenne, for Lance._

_Trixie continued to stare. He sure was a beautiful man, with shaggy blonde hair, tanned skin. And the scar was kinda hot. She laughed under her breath, shook her head, took another drink. "So what Powers you got?"_

_"Well," he started, before slowly beginning to explain. His skin was like rubber, punches all sliding off his body or bouncing right back. He could manipulate energy to help him fly, fight, do whatever he needed. He called himself a god, that this godliness was how he met his husband out in the far reaches of space._

__"Husband?"_ Trixie's voice held incredulity. "You're married?"_

_Kian didn't like this, didn't want to talk about this where his captors could potentially hear. But, he nodded. Don't talk about Prim, don't _fucking talk about Prim--__

_"That's so sad... I have a husband too. Well... had." Trixie's voice dropped to a softer tone. "I've been here so long, I'm sure he's moved on..."_

_A heavy silence hung in the air after her words. Was she trying to flirt with Kian? No, that... that would be wrong. She just cared. She was clinging to someone that she believed the captors wouldn't kill in front of her. But to keep him from death, she had to keep hurting him, keep beating him, keep pleasing them._

_A buzzer sounded overhead, startling both of them. Work time. Trixie rose to her feet, closing the whisky and hiding it away before looking back to Kian. He could barely move. Pain was spreading through his leg, his right fibula still snapped from the session a few days prior. "Woah, I gotcha, hold on." Trixie moved closer, sliding her arm under his, behind his back, and helping lift him up._

_To be fair, he did most of the work himself, but having a brace was helpful. His jaw clenched tight, fighting groans and grunts of pain. His leg was bandaged, splinted, but walking still felt damn near impossible. But Trixie still helped him outside, out to the quarry, desperate to keep him from any further punishment. It was all she could do._

_She only prayed that the punishment spared her as well._


	8. Where Did Everybody Go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 8: Where did Everybody Go? - "Don't Say Goodbye"/Abandoned/Isolation
> 
> This work revolves around Tay, Goddess of a small dimension with just one planet - Crysallis. For so long, she has run from her problems, and they're finally catching up. Arden is her counterpart, and Talon is the Deity they become once fused.
> 
> TW: swearing, shooting mention, gore, death, electrocution, animal abuse mention, choking, self harm mention

Why did she leave?

"I think we need some time apart," she whispered, holding his hands close to her chest. "It's not you, Stars no, it's not you or your family or anything. It's me."

_That hurt._

Tay brushed some of his dark hair out of his face before kissing his forehead. Leo, her lover, with lion ears and a lion tail and a lion-hearted spirit. He was everything to her. But he wasn't supposed to be everything to her.

She had responsibility. Many responsibilities. Responsibilities including, but not limited to: watching over her dimension, helping expand her dimension, keeping her dimension safe, being a good goddess and a happy goddess and a _present_ goddess. She had done none of this. In twenty years, likely more now due to the time differentiation, she had not stepped foot in her home dimension. And the guilt ate at her like a very hungry caterpillar.

No... No that was too innocent. Too sweet. Too "old her." The guilt ate at her like a gnawing, endless void that sought to devour her entire being. It was twisting her, turning her, changing her. She couldn't claw her way out of it, not until she solved its cause.

She stepped away from him, and the last thing she saw was the pure sadness in his brilliant green eyes. She couldn't bear to say "Goodbye."

_That really hurt._

Tay was supposed to go right home, but she didn't. She couldn't yet, too scared, too nervous. She went back to her other home, a dimension different than her own, different than Leo's - a beautiful dimension with so many planets and so many friends. But all the friends were gone. Completely gone.

So, she went to the Oval Office. The president used be their friend, used to know what happened if something went wrong. But he wasn't there, and she was riddled with bullets that knocked her flat on her ass faster than she could heal through them.

_That really fucking hurt._

When she woke up, she was entirely alone. Tied up, strapped to a chair in front of a projector screen. The way it hummed, she wanted to plug her ears, shut it out and scream. It was unbearable, how it wormed into her ears, into her skull, into her mind.

The images they projected were horrid. Dead animals, completely mutilated. Dead people, left in the same state. Children suffering, mothers weeping. Screams of pain, a cacophany of dissonance ringing loud in her ears.

 _"Shut up,"_ she growled. Her nails dug into the wooden chair, jaw clenching tightly closed. Fighting for relief, she forced her eyes shut, the noises only growing louder. A new hum started at the small of her back before electricity streaked up her spine. The cry that spilled out of her lips echoed around the room, bouncing off the walls and mixing with the dissonance.

The shock continued until she pried her eyes back open, looking at the canvas screen. The newest image was a dead lion. Shot by poachers. Held up and posed for Instagram or Twitter or whatever-the-fuck. Hatred boiled through her veins. A lion. How did they know? _How did they know about Leo?!_

"Oh, Tay... Little sister, always so naïve."

A voice cut through the cacophany, deep and suave and all too familiar. _Arden._ "You're my twin, asshat," she snarled out. "And I'm not naïve! Go away!"

How was he here? After the Battle of New York was the last time Tay returned home, but not as herself - as Talon, the fusion of herself and her twin brother. Talon was the true goddess of her dimension. She created the dimension, shaped it, molded it. And then her two halves began a bitter war within her - do they rule in happiness and light, or in anger and darkness?

Thus the Split happened. Talon shattered apart, forming Taysa and Arden, and the two dueled for centuries afterward. Only, Arden eventually found the upper hand, sealed away Taysa's memory and life, leaving her as the "imbecile" Tay. When he sought her out years later, eager to finish the job and rid the universe of her presence, she prevailed - she unlocked her memories and defeated Arden, once and for all.

Or, so she thought. He resurfaced. He returned in a vulnerable time, landed blows when she was distracted. And so she fused herself with him, willingly, becoming Talon. She could still remember the thoughts Talon had directly after. They were of Leo. Purely and truly, all thoughts were of Tay's lover.

She didn't go back to Leo, not immediately. He would be scared, worried, and after the death of his brother - more pain was the last thing he needed. That was the last time she returned to her dimension, along with the first time in so so long. Talon defused, leaving Tay to lock up Arden, seal him away under countless countermeasures. He was secure. There was no way for him to escape.

"'Go away?' Oh, sister, you wound me." Tay could see him, just out of the corner of her eyes. When she turned her head, that's where he remained - on the fringes of reality, existence. "Don't you miss me? Miss having me around? I know the _rush_ Talon gives you..."

Tay's body tensed up. Two cold hands pressed on her shoulders, sapping all warmth from her body. Was he really there? "Don't touch me." Her lips quivered as she whispered the order. "Don't fucking touch me. Leave me _alone."_

"But, dear sister..." Icy breath lingered at her right ear, sending chills through her body. "Are you sure you want to be alone?" The hands slid to her neck, wrapping tight around her throat, keeping her staring at the images on the screen. "You know how you handle loneliness. How you claw at your hair, talk to yourself, cry yourself to sleep."

Arden was right. She couldn't handle the death of Leo's brother any better than him. He kept leaving her to be with family, and while she could have tagged along, she refused. Too sad, too upsetting, too painful. Death was never an easy subject. She resorted to locking herself in their room, weeping, pulling out her hair in clumps that grew right back, tearing open wounds that stitched back together. The wall was her best friend. It was why she had to leave.

Leave one lonely life and slip right into another. Was that her fate? Was that the fate of immortals? Would Lance feel the same thing someday? He would know what it was like; soon, comparatively speaking in terms of the universe, his family would die. He would be alone, wouldn't he? Ah, no, he had friends. Were those friends the reason why this world had not been saved?

"Come now, let me help you with the lonely thoughts." Arden's grip on her throat tightened. The screen showed a drowning victim, their veins so dark and prevalent. Tay tried to move her head but his nails dug in, keeping her steady. "I'll be here for you."

"I don't want you..." She closed her eyes, electricity traveling up her spine again and drawing a cry from her lips.

Arden chuckled so deeply, his hands poised to choke her. "Well, too bad. You're all alone... and all you've got is me."


	9. For the Greater Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 9: For the Greater Good - "Take Me Instead"/"Run!"/Ritual Sacrifice
> 
> This work revolves around Prim, residential "Best Mom." Her life has been one fraught with danger, sadness, the tightness in her chest that leaves her wondering if her loved ones will ever return. She has two husbands - Kian and TItan - and she's a mother of three - Lance, Simon, and Fenne. Her parents are Alice and Crow, and her half-sister is Rose.
> 
> TW: swearing, blood, child abuse, electrocution, gore, self harm, rape mention, choking

"I won't let you hurt him anymore."

Prim's voice came out as a growl, words spilling between tightly clenched teeth. A dagger was in her hand, solidified, made of her own blood. Her arm was left bloody, drops dripping down the long vertical wound, rolling off her fingertips and landing in a puddle at her feet. The bracelet on her wrist was dull, a heavy weight and nothing more, not until her owner decided to switch it back on. But to switch it back on would make her bleed out, a fact Prim knew and relished.

Behind the fierce mother was a boy, a young boy of about nine, with pale blond hair and shining blue eyes. He was trembling, shaking so hard, his bracelet live and ready to shock him again. His eyes were locked on Prim, afraid to look past her, look at their enemy.

"I can hurt him _all I want,_ bitch. I own him, and I own you." Their owner stepped closer, drawing another growl out of Prim. "Don't make me take your powers again. I will, we'll stitch you up, and then I'll send you into your next fight completely powerless."

Prim rolled her pink eyes, fighting wincing at the feeling from how sore her bruised sockets felt. "And lose your best fighter? Yeah fucking right, Colt. You'd lose millions in my death."

Colt scowled, stepping closer. "Shut your mouth, whore."

 _Oh, what cutting words,_ Prim silently and sarcastically replied. _Yes, I'm such a whore with my two husbands, what-fucking-ever. Come up with better insults, dumbfuck--_

Prim's train of thought was shattered when she heard a cry of pain behind her. She looked back, the boy having fallen to his knees, holding the bracelet and crying. Another shock wracked his tiny temporarily-Powerless body. Just past him, she could see Colt's friends coming up the hallway, hungry greedy grins plastered on their faces.

"Come on, Alfie, get back up," she whispered, gaze flitting from the boy to the encroaching men, a white glow starting to flood the pink of her eyes. "I'll heal you, just get back up."

"I can't," Alfie blubbered out, holding his wrist. "I can't move, I-I'm sorry, I c-can't!" Even as a white glow surrounded the bracelet, he couldn't move his legs, couldn't unlock them and stand.

Prim swore under her breath, looking up at those "friends." One of them grabbed Alfie by the back of his shirt and forced him up, keeping him steady on his feet. "Someone can't take a little pain, hm?" The friend, this one named Lutz, sneered down at Alfie. "Won't do well in the Pit. Why'd you even buy him, Colt?"

Colt walked forward. Prim's head snapped back around and she snarled, desperate to keep Colt away from the boy. But another friend, Peter or Perry or _whatever the fuck was his name,_ he grabbed Prim and pulled her away from the group. She stabbed back at him with the blade, ready to fight, to kill, but he clutched her bloody wrist and laughed. She was immobilized, forced to watch.

Alfie stared up at Colt with horrified eyes, their owner looming over him. A head tilted up, left, right, those blue eyes stared at. "He has Powers beyond imagining," Colt began. "Those eyes, hah, they light up and shoot _lasers._ Fuckin' lasers. Who can beat that?"

"Is that it?" Lutz stared at Colt. "Lasers. That's your secret fucking weapon. Lasers." The massive man threw Alfie down to Colt's feet, the owner stumbling back.

 _Seems they aren't friends,_ Prim noted. She couldn't take her eyes off Alfie now, the boy starting to cry, weep. He was so _scared._ She couldn't blame him. How she wanted to pick him up, hold him close, brush his hair away and whisper that everything would be alright. She had done it with each of her children, and how her mind yearned to be with those three.

Prim had been bought purely for fighting. Shoved into a ring once a week to kill an opponent for a Powerless crowd. At first, she hesitated. Wavered. But she knew that to lose was to die. To die was to lose every chance of holding her children close ever again. She carved their names into her palms, her husbands names on the back of her hands. _You can't forget why you fight,_ she told herself. _You fight to see them again._

Lutz's glare slid to Prim, his attention turning to her. He stayed silent for one moment, two, before a slow grin spread. "I've got an idea, actually." He stepped over to Prim, grabbing her cheeks, forcing her to pay attention to him. "Let's punish this bloody little bitch, why don't we?"

_Punish?_

Before Prim could react, she was being dragged further down the hallway. One of the other men began wrapping up her arm, bandaging it, making sure she wouldn't bleed out before Colt turned back on her bracelet. Electricity started to crackle up her arm, a hiss of pain falling from her lips.

"Motherfucker," she whispered, looking up at the men. How were they going to punish her? Rape? No, she'd castrate every single one before they even got the chance. So how were they--

Alfie cried out again, the boy thrown onto the ground in the ring of men. His blond hair was stained with red where his forehead cracked open, those blue... blue eyes filled with tears.

"NO!" Prim blurted out as Lutz grabbed a baseball bat. "ALFIE, RUN, GET UP, RUN--" A heavy hand wrapped around her throat, quieting her, but not silencing her. "Let-- ALFIE!!" The hand tightened, squeezing out a scream as the baseball bat collided with Alfie's skull.

More and more of the red marred the perfect blond, the sickening crunch of his skull collapsing inward echoing behind the crack of the bat.

Prim struggled further, hot angry tears starting to stream. "KILL ME INSTEAD, PLEASE, PLEASE SPARE HIM--" A gagging noise cut her off, her throat begging for air. One wrong move and her neck would _snap._

"Ohh, Kinfolk," Lutz started, circling around Alfie like the boy was prey. His little chest still rose and fell, body fighting for life. "Kinfolk, sir, I know you can't hear us. But we offer you this little brat's life. We hope he's a worthy sacrifice for the God you will become."

Another swing of the bat. Alfie's little hands stopped shaking.

Colt spoke up, staring at Lutz. "The fuck are you doing? This isn't a ritual, just kill the little fucker--"

Lutz's glare shot up to meet Colt's eyes. "You dipshit." Lutz stepped over Alfie's corpse, readying the bat again. "You think Kinfolk won't be God? You think--"

Prim shut out the men, her body collapsing to the floor as they began yelling and arguing and fighting. She crawled closer to Alfie, scooping his body into her arms, brushing his hair out of his face. But it wasn't Alfie's face she saw. It was her son's, when he was a young boy, when he was happy and carefree.

She saw Lance, saw him in her arms. And as she cradled Alfie closer, she prayed. Prayed that her son was alive, and prayed that he would save her soon. Prayed that this Hell would end. Prayed that he didn't forget his mother, or his fathers, his sister or his brother or his best friends. He couldn't forget, could he?

_Could he?_


	10. They Look So Pretty When They Bleed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 10: They Look so Pretty When They Bleed - Blood Loss/Internal Bleeding/Trail of Blood
> 
> This work revolves around Haku, a young boy who was experimented on by his time-manipulating father. He was rescued by Fenne, Sun, and the Celestials during a mission to fix what history his father had rewritten. Fenne immediately took a motherly role, ready to raise and protect Haku to the best of her abilities -and her girlfriend, Sun, was more than ready to help.
> 
> TW: child abuse, blood, rape mention, gaslighting

"Oh, Haku..." Kinfolk smiled down at the eight-year-old, his eyes dark and eerie. "You do look so lovely when you bleed."

Haku coughed, refusing to meet Kinfolk's gaze. Black blood painted little drops on the office's hardwood floor. He always had weird blood, like tar, sticky and thick and dark as night. A result of his facist father's unending experiments was his only guess.

He didn't know what Powers he had, and he doubted he ever would. The boy knew he was dying here, or dying soon. Kinfolk made _sure_ he knew. With every blow that landed, with every collision of Kinfolk's fist against weak and bruised flesh, Haku knew his time was coming.

Still, he wanted to fight. Fenne would have wanted him to fight. So would Sun. His moms believed in him. He had to believe in himself. The boy struggled to sit up, the room spinning around him. _Move,_ he told himself. _Move away. Crawl away._

He managed to turn his body around, his back to Kinfolk. He grasped at the hardwood, broken and bitten nails failing to find purchase on the smooth surface. Still, he struggled, he fought, trailing black blood behind him as he crawled for the door.

"You're dirtying my floor, Haku." Kinfolk tutted, taking one, two, three steps and closing the distance between himself and the boy. "I'll have to make Fenne clean that up. Just think about how much you're making her suffer." He reached down, picking up Haku and holding him to his chest.

"Don't," Haku mumbled. "Don't touch me, don't..."

Kinfolk shook his head, bringing Haku back over to his desk. "So focused on yourself. Of course, I can't expect you to understand. You're too young, Haku. You wouldn't understand the _rush_ a real man gets from seeing your mom's tight little ass as she scrubs the floors."

Haku struggled more, wincing as Kinfolk sat him on the desk. A tiny hand moved to his side, his ribs aching under the muscle and meat. Internal bleeding, that was a thing, right? That was how bruises formed, right? The boy never saw the inside of a schoolroom, never learned much aside from what his moms taught. "Don't hurt her..."

"I'm not hurting her, Haku." Kinfolk grinned, putting a finger under the boy's chin and tilting up his head. "You are. You made the mess. She'll hate you for making her clean." His twisted logic was making Haku's body ache further, mind trying to focus on the somersaults Kinfolk was putting it through.

Haku shook his head, groaning and holding his hands to his temples. The room was spinning ever more. Blood was oozing in copious amounts from his nose, from the fresh cuts on his arms. "You'll... You're gonna hurt her... when she cleans, because of her... her..."

"Her ass?" A laugh spilled out of the monster's mouth. "No, no, you don't understand, Haku. That isn't my fault. It's hers. She's so beautiful, so sexually inviting, I can't help but walk closer..." He grabbed Haku's face. "Slide aside those lace panties I so _lovingly_ gifted her..."

A whimper fell from Haku's quivering lips. He didn't want to hear any more.

"And shove my fingers in so _deep_ that her stupid Sunshine girlfriend can hear her _scream_ no matter where she is in this house."

Haku forcibly covered his ears, crying out to drown the words. He didn't understand, didn't get what Kinfolk meant, but he heard those screams. He knew those screams. He never wanted to hear those screams again but because of him, because he made a mess, he would hear them.

 _"YOU DID THIS, HAKU!"_ Kinfolk shouted, grabbing Haku's wrists and pulling them away from head. "This is your fucking fault, do you understand?! Your mom will _suffer_ because of you! All because of _you!"_

Haku tried to pull back, crying out. "IT'S NOT MY FAULT!"

"Yes it _is,_ Haku. And they're gonna be so fucking _happy_ when you're dead. Because you're nothing but a little mistake, and _no one_ is coming to save you." Kinfolk released Haku's wrists and cupped his cheeks, wiping away some of the tears that started to spill. "Uncle Lance isn't coming to save you. No one is."

His tiny head leaned against one heavy hand, whimpering and closing his eyes. The room wouldn't stop spinning. His consciousness was beginning to fade as guilt settled into his gut. Was it really his fault? Would they really even miss him?

As his breath slowed, his mind delirious, he found himself agreeing with Kinfolk.


	11. Psych 101

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 11: Psych 101 - Defiance/Struggling/Crying
> 
> This work revolves around Titan, a man from a planet far away from Earth. He met Kian long ago, saving his life, falling in love despite knowing of Kian's marriage to Prim. The three eventually ended up in a poly relationship together, marrying them both and staying on Earth for as long as he could. He is Simon's father, though he helped raise Lance as if he were his own son. He and Kian are both the fathers of Fenne, because fusion.
> 
> TW: swearing, slavery, chained, child abuse, blood, broken bones, knives, cutting, death

"STOP IT!!!"

Titan's voice rang out loud in his cell, echoing off of the cold walls, the bloody floors. His wrists were tied to a metal chair with thick leather, feet left shackled. The chains would rattle every time he made a move, the noise digging into his mind. His bare chest rose and fell with harsh breaths as he stared at the horrific scene before him.

Ahead of him, on the other side of the impossibly-strong metal bars, was a girl. A young girl. She had introduced herself as Mim. Her hair was wild and pitch black, a few teeth missing from either age or abuse. She always smiled at Titan when she saw him around the mess hall, tapped his bracelet as a silent way of saying "I'm your friend."

Friends were dangerous in this Hell-hole of a camp. Any sort of attachment to Titan left the kids dead within a week. He tried pushing her away, tried keeping her name off of the list that was carved into his back. He failed. Once again, he failed.

He always failed.

Help did not follow him back to Earth after he made his escape. He pleaded, begged for warriors, begged for an army, but his pleas went unheard. Or, unacknowledged. No, unwanted. The rest of the galaxy was still in danger, threats still cropping up that spanned planets. No one could be spared for just one planet, just one country. He returned alone. Hunted for his wife and husband. Paid the price.

Slavery. How his entire body burned with rage at the idea. He was born into slavery, his mother the queen of a society that enslaved all men. To see others forced into it, seeing people bought and sold, to be shoved back into servitude himself... he could kill every damn person at that auction and not hold a single regret.

Mim smiled over at Titan as he shouted at the woman beating her. More teeth had been knocked out, a deep bruise forming that spread across her right cheek and up to her forehead, puffing up her eyelids in a gruesome display. She always smiled. Always. Even as another fist collided with her head, blood trickling from her lips, she smiled.

"Let her _go,"_ Titan growled, pulling at the arm restraints. How he struggled, how he fought, leather burning his skin and leaving it raw. "Stop hurting her, she didn't do anything wrong!"

The woman tutted softly, throwing Mim to the ground before approaching the bars. "Oh, Titan. How many times do we have to tell you?" She gripped a bar with her bloody hand, grinning. "They know the rules. Interacting with you gets them punished. Talking with you gets them punished. And being your 'friend' gets them _killed."_

She turned her attention back to Mim, placing a kick in the girl's gut. Mim cried out, her composure breaking, her smile fading more and more with each kick. Ribs crunched, shards digging into her lungs. Soon enough, blood would fill them, and she would drown.

Titan's shouts went unheard as the woman continued, placing her hands against the wall and kicking Mim as hard as she could. A laugh cropped up from her lips, echoing down the hallways, mingling with his screams, with Mim's grunts and whines.

Fenne. Oh, how the little one reminded him of his daughter. They were both fighters, desperate to avoid surrender, refusing to accept defeat. How he wanted to rip that woman's spine out, break apart each rib, close his fist around her throat so tight that her eyes bulge out. Fenne would have done the same thing. No, she would have done _worse._ And her eldest brother Lance would have done even worse than that. Lance, Fenne, even _Simon,_ where were his children?

When Mim finally stopped moving, the woman pulled away, her laughter dying down. "Such a pathetic waste of money." She turned to Titan, pulling keys from her pocket and unlocking his cell. "Alright. More fun for me!"

Titan clenched his jaw, watching as she slid a knife from her belt loop. He knew that knife well, how it dug into his back, twisted and turned, cut and carved so deep all of the names. Every name of every slave they killed in front of him, they carved onto his back.

"You're lucky," the woman began, pushing him forward in his seat to reveal the upper half of his back. She ran a finger over the last name, _McKenzie._ How that one burned, and still burned as she touched it, traced it so teasingly. "That runt's name is so short, you'll barely feel this."

A wince ripped out of his mouth as she sliced in the first leg of the "M." Line after line, cut after cut. Blood started to roll along his skin, painting it red once again. Five slices later began the "I." The woman crossed the top and bottom lines of the "I," eager to leave him suffering as much as possible. By the time she started the last "M," Titan's back was numb, agony spreading like fire along his skin and muscles.

"There we go." The woman walked back around him, cleaning the knife on a rag. "Oh, come on, don't cry." She pressed a hand to his cheek, brushing away the angry tears that fell. "You know the price, you know they aren't supposed to come close to you. So don't beg for my pity. You did this to her, to yourself."

As she walked away, Titan could feel one of the leather straps weakening, starting to give way. A slow grin spread across his quivering lips as he tore away from it, unleashing himself. He slammed the woman into the wall, taking the knife, letting loose pent-up anger and rage with every slice. Rage echoed, his voice desperate to cover up every pathetic desperate scream she released. It had been years since he became so violent, so ready to kill, to maim, to brutalize another living being. But, Mim looked like Fenne - Hell, for all his mind cared, Mim _was_ Fenne.

When he stumbled down the hall moments later, bloody and smiling, he called back to the new corpse beside Mim's. Satisfaction dripped from his words like the blood that dripped from his hands. "You did this to yourself."


	12. I Think I've Broken Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 12: I Think I’ve Broken Something - Broken Down/Broken Bones
> 
> This work revolves around Dakota, a woman who has been through much in her many years, most of those years spent with her wife, LK. They have adopted a son together, Evan. She is daughter of Orna and Dead, sister to Jay, half-sister to Andromeda. 
> 
> TW: swearing, attempted noncon, sleep deprivation, blood, vomit, broken bones, electrocution

"Oopsies."

Dakota looked up, blinking sweat out of her eyes, her right eye twitching and forcing itself shut as blood dripped onto her eyelashes. A girl was in front of her, a cute sixteen-year-old girl named Felicity with pigtails and a wide happy smile. Her makeup was immaculate, perfect, down to the blood splattered across her cheeks.

"Did that hurt?"

A growl rumbled in Dakota's chest. _Yes, you manic asshole, that fucking hurt,_ she silently swore behind the duct tape covering her mouth. Felicity laughed at the anger in Dakota's eyes and rested the baseball bat on her own shoulder, looking over her prey. Her Papa had been the torturer until now, Felicity finally given the chance to play with Dakota instead of the other girl.

"Papa said I shouldn't hit your head too hard. Said he wants to make sure you stay conscious."

Felicity circled around Dakota, nudging her legs with a curious foot. Oh, how she loved when Papa gifted her new toys. The one across the hall was so _boring._ She wasn't allowed to hit that one. Papa told Felicity that the woman across the hall's punishment was enacted mostly by watching Dakota suffer.

Sometimes, Dakota could hear her wretched screams after a particularly nasty hit.

"You know, you're no fun tied up like this," Felicity mumbled, looking over Dakota. The woman's ankles were duct taped together, forearms suffering the same fate. That bracelet, so bright, so... _sparky._ It kept Dakota from ripping Felicity's head off, from rescuing her wife from the burning Hell across the hall, from escaping and tearing this building to the ground.

 _Then untie me,_ Dakota stared up at Felicity with one blurry eye. _Fuck,_ her vision was blurring, and darkness was threatening to swallow her up. How she wished it would, how she wished she could finally sleep after... after however long she was in this place. The days, the nights, they all blurred together when there was no indicator of any passage of time. No window, no clock, no calendar. Was it months? Weeks? It had to be one or the other, and sleep had not graced Dakota since she entered the cell.

The crack of the bat against her spine sent her falling forward, pain shooting through the arms when she landed. Her thighs were numbing and vomit threatened to surface from the empty stomach they left her.

"Pay ATTENTION when I'm talking to you!" Felicity's sharp voice rang in overhead. She rolled Dakota onto her back with her foot, crouching down and grabbing the woman's cheeks to force that one eye to look up. "I told you to look at me and you didn't fucking _listen,_ Dakota! How _could_ you?!"

Felicity pulled away from Dakota, swinging the bat down on the woman's stomach. When she was met with silence, she scowled, reaching down and ripping the duct tape off of Dakota's mouth. "Do be so kind and _scream_ next time, okay?" Her request was filled when she brought the bat back down, Dakota screaming in pain as ribs cracked.

"Thank you!" She laughed before swinging again, earning another scream. Dakota rolled onto her side, trying to ball up, protect her sensitive core. The bat collided with her side next, blood immediately coming up with vomit as Felicity targeted a kidney. "Eww," the manic girl whispered, looking at the mess. "You're disgusting."

_"Fuck... you..."_

Felicity's eye twitched. "Excuse me?" She stepped over Dakota, careful to avoid stepping in the puke with her perfect wedged heels. "What did you just say to me, you little shit?"

"I said... fuck... you." Dakota looked up at Felicity, glaring with her blurry vision. Bile burned her mouth and throat, the stench making her nearly vomit again. But, instead of more of her insides making their way outside, a bloody scream ripped out. Felicity had stomped on one of Dakota's exposed hands, twisting her heel, dislocating and snapping her fingers.

The scream echoed. No, not echoed. LK had screamed when she saw that, the camera in the corner pointed right on the scene, broadcasted to the screen across the hall. The wide smile returned to Felicity. It was like pressing a switch and seeing the light turn on after hours of complicated wiring. She _liked_ hearing the distant scream.

Her heel connected with Dakota's other hand, the scream across the hall giving her a rush that made her twist and stomp again and again. Dakota could not stop shouting, crying out in absolute pain, but that wasn't who Felicity wanted to hear. Felicity looked up to the camera, grin wide and wild. "Come on, pretty dyke, scream more for me! Cry about your disgusting sinful wife more for me!"

Dakota managed to look up at the camera, tears flooding her eyes, her gaze barely able to make out the black blob. "LK," she gasped out, lips shaking. "Loftkennd, honey, please-- Please stop screaming, PLEASE--" Her words were cut off as Felicity's heel snapped her bare wrist, her following scream shrill and sharp.

Still, LK's voice echoed, seeping into their room. Dakota could hardly feel from the overwhelming numbing pain, hardly able to sense that Felicity took a knife and cut apart the duct tape on her arms. She was pushed onto her back, Felicity moving to straddle the woman on her chest. "So this is how that dyke feels? I mean, I assume she has to top, since you're a spineless piece of shit, how could _you_ ever top?"

Felicity's laugh echoed around the room, pounding into Dakota's skull. "You're waaay more fun than her, did you know that?" She leaned forward, pinning Dakota's shattered hands above her head. "I wonder if I should tell you what your wife did to me, Dakota."

 _Don't listen,_ Dakota whispered to herself. _Don't fucking listen to her._ She managed to focus on the rush of her own blood through her skull, on the pounding in her brain, on the continuing echo of LK's rage-filled shrieks. She didn't want to hear about how this little piece of shit raped her wife.

Felicity's laugh bubbled through, breaking the concentration Dakota held. She gripped the sides of Dakota's face, moving her body closer, hovering right over the woman's bloody mouth. "I wonder if I'll taste like her," she giggled, lifting her skirt and lowering herself.

 _Big fucking mistake,_ Dakota snarled. Her hands now free, she could tell, she still had some grip strength left. And she used that strength to dig unkempt nails into the flesh of Felicity's inner thigh, drawing blood quickly with the jagged keratin. She couldn't sit and wait for help from Lance or anyone else any longer. She had to act _now._

Felicity shrieked out, pulling away from Dakota and fixing her skirt. "YOU WHORE!" She yelled, anger burning through her veins as the screams across the hall turned into shouts of _triumph._

Fighting pain with every ounce of adrenaline rushing through her veins, Felicity still nursing the bloody scratches on her thigh, Dakota pulled the weak duct tape off of her legs and forced her way to her feet. Blurry, everything was still _so fucking blurry,_ but she managed to focus on the discarded blob of light brown wood. The baseball bat.

She grabbed the bat, fingers curling around the leather-wrapped handle, biceps burning as she tensed and tightened to fight the pain. This was going to hurt, good Lord it was going to _really fucking hurt,_ but she was determined. Dakota stepped over to Felicity, a messy grin spreading across her face as she collided the bat with the woman's skull, relishing in the _crunch._

"Oops," Dakota whispered, manic laughter bubbling up as she dropped the bat. "I think I broke something..." Her laughter continued as electricity sparked through her body from her bracelet, forcing her to her knees, forcing her into the darkness of sleep that she so craved.


	13. Breathe In, Breathe Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 13: I've Got You - Breathe In Breathe Out/Delayed Drowning/Chemical Pneumonia/Oxygen Mask
> 
> This work revolves around Cory, a young man that would much rather be called "Jackass." He wants nothing more than to run, run away, be himself for once in his life. He was forced to marry Sara, and their eventual child is one that he is incredibly unsure about existing.
> 
> TW: swearing, cult, rape mention, child abuse mention, blood, smoking, vaping, self harm, suicide attempt, bruises

"Come on, Cory, stay with me."

A lovely voice, beautiful and ringing with the tone of angels, echoed above Jackass's head. He forced his tired eyes open, looking up at her. Sara. An objectively gorgeous woman, perfect for anyone that loved a lady, psychotic and so bought in to this God-damned cult that it left her a hyperactive, bitchy, manipulative rapist. He didn't want to stay with her, _fuck_ he wished she'd curl up and just die. Or, he wished he'd curl up and die.

"Come on, Cory!" She grabbed something, something hard and plastic, and forced it over his mouth. Air flooded right in as she pumped the bag, an attempt to keep his trembling body breathing and working. He struggled, forcing it off of him, forcing her away and coughing harshly. He tasted iron, it coated his tongue and throat.

"Get the... fuck away from me," he choked out, rolling onto his side, trying to push himself up. Sara moved to help him but he pushed her away again, his thin arms still providing enough force to keep her away. "Don't _touch_ me..."

Sara stared at Cory, at Jackass - God, she hated the name he used for himself. His parents were so kind to gift him with the name of Cory, so kind to gift him to Miss Millie after they caught him with a stash of cigarettes under his bed. Miss Millie was sure to turn him around, make sure he stayed pure and safe and true. A fifteen-year-old should not have been smoking, he knew that.

All of the smoking, it hurt him, it wounded his body beyond repair. Sara feared the worst, feared it was cancer. He spoke of how his chest ached, his head pounded. It had been a year since he stopped smoking those nasty cigarettes, why was he not getting better? Was her husband dying?

"Love," she started, her voice soft. "You need help... And you know Miss Millie doesn't like hospitals."

Jackass laid on his back again, trying to catch his breath, staring up at the high ceiling of the Hollywood mansion that served as their prison. "First," he raised one hand up, a finger pointing skyward. "You don't fucking love me, so... so stop pretending. Second, how the Hell does Millie expect to..." He had to pause, his breath so short. "Fuck, how does she expect you to give birth without a doctor?"

Sara hesitated, wounded by his words. She did love him, she knew she did, even if he didn't love her. Illegally, she loved him, forced to be with him by Miss Millie, the nineteen-year-old girl shoved in with the oldest boy Millie owned, with a boy who was just now sixteen. But she had to obey, there was no way to disobey and live. Their child was going to be proof of their obedience.

"I don't know, I think she is a midwife..?" Sara's voice quivered as she moved closer to Cory. "But... you're wrong, I _do_ love you--"

 _"Bullshit--"_ Jackass burst into another coughing fit. He rolled onto his side, his back to Sara this time, watching as little drops of blood from his lungs painted the carpet. His throat was feeling tight, his breath becoming a weak wheeze that rattled his chest. "You don't... you wouldn't rape me if..." He couldn't finish his sentences at this point. Was it finally time? Was he nearly free?

Sara moved even closer, placing a hand on his thigh. She went to speak before hesitating, feeling something hard in his pocket. Digging it out, a gasp escaped her fear-strained throat as she tossed the vape pen to the carpet. "What the... Cory?! A _vape?!_ You never stopped smoking, did you?"

"Surprise," he laughed out before coughing even harder. "Slowest... way to kill myself... loaded it with Millie's shitty pods..." He spoke of the flowers with a scent so sweet it washed away all pain, leaving its victims complacent, compliant, comfortable. Kinfolk had managed to warp the flowers, expand their usage - they used to be just incense, used by the old Children of the Phoenix cult that existed deep in West Virginia. But he had scientists make joints from its petals, make vape pods from extracted oils.

Sara felt tears well up, she tried to get Cory to sit up, get his airways unblocked, but he was too heavy for her. Strain flooded through her lower half, her abdomen - so gently swollen with their child - making her drop him back onto the carpet. He grunted, wheezing more and more. "MISS MILLIE!" She screamed out, trying to grab the mask and put it back on him.

 _"Stop--"_ He started before more blood filled his throat. Breathing was becoming impossible, every second fading away.

When she didn't come, Sara looked up and around, tears streaming down her cheeks. "MILLIE GET YOUR FUCKING ASS IN HERE!" Her voice ripped out of her mouth, laced with curses she had abandoned long ago. A wail followed her words, her vision blurring. It was her fault, it was all her fault, he was killing himself because of _her._

No, not because of her. Because of Millie. Because of Kinfolk. Because of this stupid cult that wormed its way into the hopeless girl's brain, gave her a family when she was alone, when she was abandoned. Because Millie had a camera in every room of the house, because she sent tapes of their child's conception to Kinfolk so he could lavish the two with praise.

Sara pulled away from Jackass as Millie rushed in, her body numbing as an ambulance came and took him away. She was told to hide, told to stay out of sight, and she obeyed. With scarred wrists and legs, bruised knees and cheeks, tears streaming down, she obeyed. When Millie came to check on her, she didn't bother asking if he would be okay. To ask would be to kill him.

Love him, Millie ordered. Grow too attached and he dies, Millie warned. Sara was able to chalk the tears up to pregnancy hormones, able to whisper lies through her crackling voice. She claimed she had no clue why he was dying, lied right to Millie's face as his vape pen felt achingly heavy in her pocket. She did love him, but not as a husband, as a friend. She was forced to love him, forced to love an underage boy. And she hated every second.

But Sara was determined to protect him, and their child, no matter the cost. She'd keep his secrets, hide how he still smoked, hide how he loved no women, only men. No matter what demons came, no matter if the prophesied-yet-missing Celestial, Lance, came and wrought havoc on the entire cult, she would protect them. She swore it, swore it in her bones, in her soul.

She would protect them.


	14. Is Something Burning?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 14: Is Something Burning? - Branding/Heat Exhaustion/Fire
> 
> This work revolves around Ben, a man who was raised in an icy Hell, who has made more questionable decisions than most. After running from home with his eventual wife, Andromeda, he found himself as one head of a cult known as the Children of the Phoenix. There, he took out much pent-up rage and aggression, actions that still haunt him today. He has two beautiful daughters - Cassie and Ara - and he is struggling to stay sane as days pass by.
> 
> TW: vomit, branding mention, cult mention, possession, revenge torture, child abuse mention, hallucinations

Goosebumps dappled Ben's sun-kissed skin, his sweat ice-cold compared to the heat that circled around him in a riptide of sweltering pain. His stomach was twisted up into knots, his recent meal of warmed chicken broth hard to keep down. He could feel his pulse in his fingertips, in his throat, in every extremity. Rapid, quick, beating just like a rabbit.

A rabbit. That was a good comparison for Ben. He was but a little scared rabbit in a world of wolves, being cooked alive for their next feast. Of course, he didn't know if they were actually cooking him. If they were, they were being incredibly slow about it.

He didn't belong here. Didn't belong anywhere, he thought. Belonged only in his wife's arms, in Andromeda's arms. Belonged at Lance's side, beside his best friend, beside the man he loved but knew he couldn't have. If Andromeda had a say, had her way, Lance would be their husband in a heartbeat, just like Lance's parents' polyamorous relationship.

But Lance had his way. No, the _universe_ had its way. He was fated to be a Celestial, to be impossibly Powerful. With Power came threats, came danger. To love Andromeda, to love Ben, Lance would have signed their death warrants.

How he wished he was with Lance now. Maybe he would be safer, less dehydrated, less dizzy. Maybe the room would spin less, maybe he's shake less. Less, less, less, how he craved it in a time of so much stimulation.

Ben could stand if he wanted, pace around the empty room, try to avoid the multiple vents pumping in nothing but heat. But it was no use trying to escape. Every corner was as warm as the other. If he accidentally brushed against the locked handle of the door, it would leave a burn that kissed his skin just like the old brand.

That brand, that _cult._ No matter how many times Lance told Ben that it was all Faith's fault, that she manipulated Ben and Andromeda, he didn't believe it. Not fully. He couldn't.

He could still remember the pain he inflicted, how he _relished_ torturing his parents. It was revenge in that case, pure revenge for the ice-based abuse they forced him through in the entirety of his childhood. They made him suffer for _years._ Nothing could deter his mind from the idea that the torture they felt was justified.

Ben had always wanted more protection, more safety for the Powerless. He was Powerless, born that way, despite his father's Powers. He thought he was a freak, an aberration - no one told him for sixteen years that his mom was Powerless and dead, that the "mom" with those wretched ice powers was his step-mom. No, his mom wasn't just dead. She was murdered by his father, her death covered up.

Learning that is what sold him so deep into the Children of the Phoenix. The Empowered were abusing the Powerless, lauding their strength over the weak. Eradicating Empowered seemed like such a perfect idea, nevermind Lance, Andromeda, every single one of his friends and their families.

But then, he had Powers. He was kidnapped, corrupted. Dark magic from an ancient god flowed through his veins, making his nightmares darker, stronger, becoming almost corporeal. He could see them when he was awake, shadows taking form, bright eyes glaring, judging. He had no control - he was more cursed than Empowered.

A hiss ripped from his lips as bare skin touched one of the vents on the wall. The brand had felt just like that, a sweet kiss of flames, laced with the hypnotic incense he so willingly produced. It was a simple design, a swirling phoenix on the deltoid of his left shoulder. He could still remember how Andromeda wept after getting branded - her healing power had to be suppressed, the pain so intense that she threw up in the bathroom.

Why did he ever let her suffer so much?

_"Because you're a monster."_

Ben's head snapped up, staring at the darkening corner across from him. A dark purple magic had started to swirl in his eyes, coalescing the shadows into a person, a being that could talk, that could insult.

"Not a monster," Ben mumbled back, unwilling to believe his new companion. "Not my fault."

 _"Stop lying to yourself."_ A pearly white grin split the shadows, smiling ever so eerily at its victim. _"You wanted everything Faith preached. You stole Cassie's powers, after all."_

The shadow was right. Ben had injected his daughter, Cassie, with a drug that stole all the Power that Andromeda would have passed down, did it just moments after her birth. Oh, how Cassie hated him when she found out, how her body shook with rage. Did Andromeda resent him for such an act?

"My mind was clouded," he replied, the same line he told Cassie. "I wasn't thinking right."

The shadow moved closer, smelling so heavily of smoke. Its eyes formed, swirling with the same green Ben once saw in the mirror. _"Have you ever thought right? Have you ever made a clear and conscious decision in your life?"_

Ben went quiet, trying to think. Yes, he knew he did, he _knew_ he did. Why couldn't he think of any? Why wouldn't the room slow down?

More shape, more form, the shadow began to look so familiar. It caressed Ben's cheek, cooing softly. _"Just relax. I won't hurt you, remember? I'm your friend. I'll always be your friend. Just us, just the two of us."_

Ben tried to pull away, touching the vent again and crying out in pain. He doubled over, his head pounding hard enough to make his ears ring. "Get... get away from me..."

 _"Shh..."_ The shadow wrapped its arms around Ben, helping him sit up. One hand on his cheek, another on his shoulder, they locked eyes and Ben _knew._ The shadow looked just like him. Just like he used to, before the corruption, before nightmares tore his mind to shreds. _"I'm here, I'll always be here."_

"Always," Ben muttered. His head fell forward, trying to rest against the shadow. Instead, darkness consumed him, his body giving out, fighting for rest until his captors woke him again.


	15. Into The Unknown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 15: Into The Unknown - Possession/Magical Healing/Experiment Gone Wrong
> 
> This work revolves around Jay, a man who knew an entire life of experimentation and torture at the hands of Aamon. When he finally escaped, the act sparked the Battle of New York, a battle that cost his father's life. He is the son of Dead and Orna, brother to Dakota and half-brother to Andromeda. He is married to Rose and has two children - Jeremy and Bella.
> 
> TW: swearing, experimentation, needles, possession, gore mention, hand injury, whipping, blood, biting

"You know... I've done this to so many creatures. Bears. Werewolves. Angels. But you... son of a _Celestial..._ You will be my most exciting experiment yet."

Jay stared at the man pacing in front of him, his mouth gagged, his hands bound. He focused on the needle, the liquid inside thick, swirling with red and purple and black. Dangerous. That was incredibly dangerous, and yet Jay had _no clue_ what it was.

Rutherford walked closer, turning Jay's arm over. He tilted the arn left, right, before finding the perfect spot and placing the cold needle against a vein. "Just breathe. You won't feel a thing soon enough."

Jay squinted his eyes shut, tensing up as the needle pushed into his skin. Pain stretched out from the wound, spreading up and down his arm. He pried an eye open, looking down, watching as his veins turned pitch black. _Fuck, FUCK._

Fire flooded through him, drawing a groan of pain that slipped past the gag. Rutherford grinned, tapping Jay's arm, looking him over, analyzing. He backed away and grabbed a clipboard off the wall, starting to take notes. My, this subject was more interesting than any he'd seen before. The resilience, the strength. Jay was fighting the corruption with every cell in his body. This was as close as he could get to testing on a true Celestial, like the bastard Lance that all of social media begged to return.

Rutherford's eyes flashed with a red magic, watching the demon form. It was made of shadows, just barely visible, its eyes hungry and its jaw wide. It clamped down on Jay's throat, snarling as he screamed behind the gag. Long claws dug into his arms, its body fusing so tightly with him. The demon Rutherford created had not been this eager since he had an angel in captivity.

Jay's world was growing blurry, his head heavy. A fog was settling over his mind, thoughts fragmented. He wanted to fight, to kill. By the fucking Deity, how he wanted to _KILL._ He wanted to rip Rutherford's head off, tear out his spine, devour his heart. His eyes opened wide, black flooding the white, blue becoming bright red. Rutherford was a target, prey, and how Jay _hungered._

"Now, now," Rutherford starting, walking closer. He placed a hand on Jay's cheek, rubbing a thumb along the leather gag. "Don't get so mad at me. I created you." Jay struggled more in the chair, snarling, drool running down his chin as his teeth sharpened and bit into leather. "I _created_ you. And I will nurture you."

 _SHUT UP!_ Jay's mind screamed. _SHUT THE FUCK UP!_ His fangs began to tear through the leather, biting so hard on the gag that it fell from his lips after one last, strong bite. Quicker than Rutherford could react, Jay snapped his jaws at the man's hand, biting down and taking off three fingers.

Rutherford cried out in pain, stumbling back, holding his bloody hand. "What the..." He stared over Jay, the demonic man growling louder, his face flushed and sweaty, teeth stained red. Rutherford sighed, holding his hand out and watching as the fingers grew back. "Impressive. Quite impressive."

_"Rose."_

The scientist tilted his head slightly, focusing back on Jay. "You spoke. What did you say?" He approached again, wary of getting anywhere near those jaws.

Jay stared, one thought left on his mind. _"Rose."_ Want Rose. Want wife. He wanted his wife more than anything, wanted to hold her close, melt in her arms. He knew her, he knew she wouldn't fear him like this. She was dangerous in her own way. She'd kiss him and hug him. She's love him no matter what.

Rutherford tutted softly. "That's your wife, isn't it? You really think she'd love you if she saw you like this?" Jay nodded his head slightly, not fully wanting to reply. "You're a monster, Jay. No one will ever love you like this." Wrong. He was wrong, he had to be wrong. "She will see you and call you a mon--"

A laugh burst out of Jay, high and wild, fangs bared. Rutherford stared, eyes narrowing, confused. Jay couldn't explain, couldn't articulate how his wife was blind. Blinded by her wretched mother, rescued by her kind father, Crow, and adopted and loved by her new step-mom, Prim. Rose was a beautiful, powerful woman, full of love and sass and snark, and Jay was proud to call her his wife.

"Stop laughing," Rutherford ordered, narrowing his eyes. "I am correct, you know. You'll be unleashed. You'll slaughter thousands. And then, painted in their innocent blood, she will declare you a monster."

Wrong again. Wrong wrong wrong. Rose loved Jay. She loved him since they took off into space. Right after the Battle of New York, they left, Jay searching the stars for his mom, desperate to bring her home. They ended up together, had a daughter, adopted a son. Rose. Loved. Him.

 _"Rose,"_ he muttered, another growl spilling out as Rutherford backhanded him. The growl turned to a whine as more pain spread through his body. His bones were changing, spikes and spurs growing from them and bursting through the muscle and skin.

"She will not love you! She will hate you!" Rutherford was growing frustrated with his subject. He smacked Jay again, more laughs forcing their way out. No other subject had done this, had been so hard to break. To be fair, most of them he injected and immediately released into the wild. But Kinfolk wanted this one taught well, wanted its pain to fester until a violent eruption.

Jay smiled, smiled so wide up at Rutherford, vindication forming in his corrupted eyes. He was not being broken - Rutherford was. _"Rose,"_ Jay spoke, relishing in the anger that flashed on his captor's face. He had just enough conscience left to mess with the bastard, just enough cohesive thought that it would tear Rutherford apart. It was stunning how focusing on her kept the demon at bay.

But Rutherford knew how to break this, how to sever the connection and draw forth the pure primal bloodlust. He backed away from Jay, grabbing a new needle along with a whip. He grabbed Jay's writhing wrist, injecting the drug - a sedative - into him.

Jay looked up at Rutherford, slight confusion taking over his shattered train of thought. Why was the world blurring further? Why was the fire within feeling duller, number? As Rutherford released the straps on his arms, he could feel just how heavy every limb was. What was going on? __

__Rose,_ his mind whispered as Rutherford forced him to stand then shoved him to his knees. A leathery hand ran along his spine, feeling each segment, how spurs had started to press at his skin, threatening to surface. The crack of the whip hid the pain at first, ears ringing from the noise before he felt blood roll down his back._

_Another crack, another new gash. Jay fell forward, hands holding him up, dark claws trying to find purchase as they pressed against the metal floor. The pain was nothing - he had felt so much worse, and the sedative addling his mind was numbing it all. But the sensation, blood starting to spill, spurs exposed and allowed to grow as the corruption worked further through his body..._

_Who was he thinking of? It was a woman, right? Black hair, long black hair that smelled like a garden, a smile pointed just slightly to his side. Her hair was black, right? Right? He had a wife, right? _Right?__

__Wrong,_ a voice rattled inside his head. He looked down at his hands, managing to focus enough to see how shadowy black claws slid into his arms, his wrists. Teeth sank deep into his neck, fangs sharp and solid, choking his voice. _You're all alone except for me.__

_All alone. _Yeah, and the guy behind me with a whip doesn't exist? Yeah, right, whatever, demon bastard._ Jay turned his head slightly, trying to look, to see Rutherford. But the man wasn't there. The whip was gone. The blood on his back was caking. Where did he go? When did he leave?_

_Jay sat up, wincing at the pain on his back. His head felt so heavy, horns curling back from his forehead, his eyes tired. He wanted sleep, wanted to rest. Wanted to fight that man when he next saw him._

_No. Not fight. Kill. _Kill._ Jay wanted to shred Rutherford to pieces. Not just Rutherford. Anyone he saw. Blood, he craved it, wanted to be painted in it. The demon laughed in his mind, Jay's own voice joining him in the chorus. Violence. Yes, violence was his goal. And he would stop at nothing to achieve it._


	16. A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 16: A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day - Forced to Beg/Hallucinations/Shoot the Hostage
> 
> This work revolves around Apex, a man who yearns for nothing more than a normal life. Experimented on by his horrible parents, he has tried his best to keep himself from becoming the monster they wanted him to be. Bethany is the younger sister of a woman Apex once loved, a woman he saw die, a woman named Sarah (Not the Sara from Chapter 13). 
> 
> TW: swearing, dehumanization, death mention, knives, blood, child abuse, guns, broken bones

_"Beg."_

Apex snarled at the man's words, trying to pull away from the wall, the chains on his wrists digging deep into the skin. His eyes focused intently on the young teenager on the other side of the fence.

"Beg for her life, little kitty."

How he wanted to break free, break these chains, break that damn bracelet, break down the thin chain fence that blocked him from Bethany. He wanted to break that bastard's fucking neck, break every bone in his body, break his spine over his knee. _Break, break, BREAK._

But not beg.

Apex was not a begger, never was. He worked for his own money, refusing any handouts his friends offered. He mostly made his living at retail stores, keeping a simple life, a Powerless life. It was a life he enjoyed... until someone attacked. They attacked and _killed_ the woman Apex loved, her family calling him a monster for how he lost his mind.

Except for Bethany. Bethany was Sarah's little sister, a girl who always believed in Apex, knew he was anything but a monster. She was a bold girl, strong and Powerless, happy. She despised her parents for their hatred of the Empowered, and while this captivity hurt, she hoped it would change their mind, hoped it would make them see that Powerless can be assholes too.

"I SAID BEG!" The man holding Bethany pressed the knife tighter against her neck, grinning at Apex. Bethany had stayed so stoic, so brave and strong, but a whimper slipped past her lips. "Beg or I slit her pretty little fucking throat."

Apex growled louder, pulling harder. _Break. Break. BREAK._

Bethany gasped softly, flinching as the knife caught part of her skin and drew blood. "James--" She blurted out, locking her eyes with him. She didn't want to beg either, but he didn't have a blade to his throat like she did. "James, please!"

"FINE!" Apex roared. "Please, let her _go."_

The man chuckled. "That was pathetic, kitty. Come on. Beg. Properly. How about..." He nodded to the side, an assistant pressing a button on the wall. The chains released Apex from the wall, letting him collapse with a loud groan. "Get on your knees and beg."

Apex looked up at the man, the chain fence starting to blur as rage filled his veins. He moved closer, standing, grabbing onto the fence with both tense, heavy hands. "I'll rip you apart, you prick. Let her go."

"Tsk, bad choice. Didn't say please." He drew more blood from Bethany, the girl crying out. Those brown eyes were flooded with absolute fear, tears starting to form, his civilian name falling from her lips.

Apex dropped to a knee, letting go of the fence. "Please, _sir,_ please let her go." Sarcasm riddled his voice. It wasn't that he didn't care about Bethany - she was one of the few people he cared about. But this needless posturing, this ridiculous _begging..._

"Hmm." The man let go of Bethany, the girl moving to the fence, grabbing onto it. She wanted to be on the other side, wanted to be with Apex - if she was with him, she knew she was safe. But the man grabbed her hair and forced her face against the fence, drawing a shocked scream from her. "Less sarcasm. Try. Again."

"Please!" Apex blurted out, grabbing up at her hand, trying to let her fingers weakly grab onto one of his. "Please, stop hurting her, she's just a kid!" His voice cracked as he spoke, Bethany managing to hook her forefinger around his own, through the chain-links.

The man let go of Bethany, laughing. She slipped her small hand through the fence and grabbed onto his hand, her breath shaky, her other hand moving up to the blood on her neck. "James, I'm... I'm scared, I..."

"It's okay, Beth, I've got you, it's gonna be okay..." He spoke softer and softer, trying to reassure her. "Lance will come, or Wolf and Fox, or someone else, and we'll get out, I promise." His heart ached as he spoke of his friends, spoke of people he wished would come to save them. He could take torture for days, for weeks, for years. He lived with it his entire childhood, a test subject for his parents.

 _But they were hurting Bethany._ He couldn't let that happen any longer, he just couldn't. Break the fence, break through, break, break, _break._

"James?" Bethany whispered his civilian name, whispered a lie he told her, searching his face. He was shattering. She could see it in his eyes, how they flitted around, finding it hard to focus. She had seen him feral before, a time when the man lost his mind. Psychic magic had brought back her sister's death, replayed it, blamed him for it.

In response to the liar visions, Apex snapped. Electricity charged his entire body and he destroyed two entire cities on one island, slaughtering thousands. His body had changed, sharp feline fangs pushing past his lips, nails becoming claws. The lightning that wreathed his body gave him the image of a jaguar, making him a beast that never scared Bethany.

She trusted Apex, she always did. Even after he charged her, he stopped his claws from touching her. Her very presence made his body relax, made his mind find cohesion once again. He would never hurt her.

As he gripped the fence tighter, she didn't flinch, didn't shy away. He was angry, but the hand she held onto was still, not a single tremor rocking it. He was going to break out and save her. He had to, he just had to--

"This will be fun."

She looked away quickly, eyes resting on the man that once held the knife. Instead, he was holding a small gun, and a tiny dart was in Apex's neck. "No!" She cried out. "James, your neck, they--" A cry ripped from her lips as his hand suddenly clenched down, crushing her hand with ease. A numbing pain shot through her, her stomach doing flips at the sickening _crunch_ that echoed around.

Apex let go, rising back to his feet. His vision was blurring together, his breathing getting heavier, rougher. Did he really hurt her? No, he couldn't have. He never would. Would he? No, yes, maybe, _agh._ The fence was starting to dissolve before him, letting him step out, be free, step on Bethany's throat and kill everyone in the room. Break free. Break out. _BREAK. BREAK. BREAK._

But those were just hallucinations. Bethany stared from the other side of the fence, holding her hand to her chest, watching as he slammed his head against the fence repeatedly. With every crash and rattle of the chain, one word was muttered under his breath. "Break."

Bethany stood and backed against the wall. She wasn't afraid of him, no, not even as her hand ached and she cried from the pain. She was afraid for him. He really was breaking, and that injection was no help. "GET OUT OF HERE!" She screamed at the man, a whimper following soon after as he strode over and grabbed her arm.

"No, no. You don't give me orders, you little shit." He dragged her down the hallway, away from Apex's cage as he starting to roar and scream. What was he seeing? Did she even want to know? "You get to sit right here until it's time to break him again."

The man shoved her into a cell, bars keeping her locked up tight. She gripped one with her good hand, spitting insults at the man, and when he left, she sunk to the floor and wept. She didn't want to hear Apex anymore, didn't want to hear his screams, but she had no choice. It was all she could eventually hear.


	17. I Did Not See That Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 17: I Did Not See That Coming - Dirty Secret; along with Alt Prompt 3 - Comfort
> 
> This work revolves around Pam, the angelic wife of Satan. Pam has always thought for herself, despite what the other angels say or think or do. Her children are Jak and Serena, and her sister is Pera.
> 
> TW: body horror, caged, fire, possession, blood

"I'll be right back. I promise."

Pam smiled so sadly at her caged sister, trying to lock her gaze with whichever one of the fallen angel's numerous eyes decided to focus on her. Pera gave little acknowledgement, most of her eyes staring down at her clawed hands, at the angelic blood that coated them.

Holding a hand to her side, Pam limped away from the cage, leaving her room and leaning against the closed door with a sigh. She had tried comforting her sister again - physical interaction seemed to make the most progress but was always so dangerous. Pera had freaked out suddenly, lashing out, digging those claws into Pam without a thought.

Pam wasn't scared, however, but she needed a break. Needed to heal herself, needed to find someone that could fix her sister. A golden light began to flow from her fingertips, weaving into the wound and sealing it shut. "There, that's fixed..." A low _thunk_ echoed down the hallway as she leaned her head back. Who could possibly fix this? Someone on Earth? Someone in Heaven?

 _Perhaps one of the Seraphs,_ she wondered, looking up and down the hallway. Meeting with the Seraphs would not be easy. They stayed secluded, a council that decided on issues too big for most but too small for the Deity. Maybe one would offer a hand to the angel they shunned for loving Satan.

Pam started down the hallway, pausing as she heard a voice behind her. "HEY! Demon-lover!" She turned around, watching a group of angels approach her. She knew this group, knew them for nearly thirty years. They never stopped harassing her for her love, for her children, and likely now for her sister.

"What do you want?" She spoke past clenched teeth. "I'm busy."

"Busy deciding which demon to fornicate with today?" One of the angels laughed - their leader, Inai. Inai was cruel, one of the Dominions who decided where a mortal went upon death - Heaven, Hell, or Limbo. He sent nearly all mortals to Hell or Limbo, certain that only the purest were allowed in Heaven. That purity ideal made him despise Pam with every fiber of his being.

"No," Pam started. She didn't want to expose her plan, didn't want to explain how she believed a Seraph would help her. "I'm getting food." Not a lie. She did hunger, and so did Pera, but food wasn't her only goal.

Inai stepped closer, clapping a hand on her shoulder and smiling. "Why don't we join you? It's been so long since we talked." There was malice behind his words, his grip tightening.

"No, I'm perfectly fine. I'm bringing the food back to eat in my room anyway." Pam's voice stayed unwaveringly calm, even as one of his manicured golden nails dug into her skin. She gasped out, however, when he slammed her against a marble column. "What are you doing?!"

"We know about that demon you have in there," he growled. "How you haven't given up on that lost cause. It's pathetic."

Pam narrowed her eyes, feeling flames flicker along her fingertips. "Back off, before you do something you regret." She glanced to the rest of Inai's group, how they were starting to surround the two. Her concentration was broken as he landed a blow in her gut, her cry of pain drawing laughter from the angels.

"I have always wanted to do that," he sighed happily before punching again and again. Pam was ready to burst into flames, burn him to a crisp and feed his charred remains to Pera. But before she could, a voice down the hall made Inai freeze.

"Let her go, Inai. Get out of here." The voice was strong, otherworldly, commanding respect. A Seraph. What was a Seraph doing this close to Pam's room?

Inai released Pam, covering his eyes with his wings, his group doing the same. Pam mirrored the action, a sign of respect to the Seraph that saved her life, an action required of all lower tier angels when addressing the Seraphs. He mumbled apologies before turning and leaving with the group, Pam remaining where she was.

"Thank you, sir--" She hesitated as she heard the Seraph draw closer. One of her wings was gently pushed aside, revealing one of her fiery eyes and letting her gaze upon him. He had forest green hair, red markings on his cheeks, his eyes blazing gold with holy Power.

"They hurt you," he whispered, moving his hand to her abdomen. She flinched at his touch, staring, confused, concerned. Magic flowed and surrounded her stomach, healing the bruises that had begun to form. "I'm sorry about them. Some of our kind can be so cruel."

Pam nodded, a daze washing over her. A Seraph. She was actually looking upon a Seraph. It was as close as she would get to looking upon the Deity themself. "I... I need your help," she whispered back, unable to raise her voice. "My sister, she..."

"I know," he began, gently hushing her. "I have been meaning to visit. Pera, she..." His voice trailed off as he walked past Pam, his six wings folded neatly against his back. "Come."

Pam hurried to follow, pushing open her door for him. Instantly, he hurried inside, moving to the cage and placing his hands on the bars. "Be careful!" Pam blurted out as Pera rose to meet him. "She can be dangerous, she..."

"She'll never hurt me." He offered a dry smile before looking back at Pera. "Hello, my Love. It has been too long... time has been so unkind to you." Pam stared in absolute shock as Pera gently grasped one of the Seraph's hands, her lips spilling his name in the ancient tongue. _Geryn._

That was the man Pera loved? A Seraph? A _Seraph?_ There were laws for the Seraphs, important laws that could cause a Fall if broken. And Geryn was breaking every single one. The Seraphs names were to remain unknown, their faces unknown. No one knew their true numbers. Yet, here was Pam's sister, madly in love with what she couldn't have.

Did Pam set all the wrong examples? Did she flaunt her love with Satan too much? Anxiously, she twisted her wedding band, watching the two silently interact. "Can you heal her?" She broke the silence, flinching back as Pera glared with at least four of her eyes.

"No," Geryn replied, sadness lacing his beautiful voice. "I believe only one being can. A Celestial. Either our Lance, or one of the others he travels with." His mind flitted to one of the other Celestials, an angel by the name of Jace. His brother, but not from this dimension. That Jace, and that Jace alone, could have been Pera's only hope.

"So what do we do?" Desperation was rising in Pam's throat. "It's been a year and no one has seen the Celestials. Earth is falling apart down there! Why can't we intervene?"

Geryn shook his head. "The Deity forbids it. Of course... the Deity forbids a lot, but we don't always listen, do we?" He smiled at her. "But the Deity is lenient when it comes to Love. Not so much War. And we would be waging war on mortals. I am afraid the best course of action is to wait."

Pam sat on her bed. Defeat settled in her gnawing gut. "We... we wait."

"Yes..." Geryn unlocked the cage, stepping inside. Pam watched as he pulled the demonic angel into his arms, held her close, cloaked her with his powerful wings and placed a kiss on her bloody cheek. "We wait. And watch. And pray."

A smiled flickered onto Pera's face as she looked up at Geryn, adoration present in those many eyes. _Perhaps Love was the answer,_ Pam mused silently. _Love, time, comfort. Maybe, just maybe, Pera would heal without a Celestial._

But as a cold glare flashed across the eyes, claws trying to dig into Geryn's tough-as-marble skin, Pam shook her head. Not only was she defeated, she was becoming hopeless. She whispered a prayer, sending it out across the dimensions, praying for someone to help her sister. There was no way of knowing if she was heard.

All they could do was wait.


	18. Panic! At the Disco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 18: Panic! At the Disco - Panic Attacks/Phobias/Paranoia
> 
> This work revolves around Star, a woman who has always been so comfortable with knowing exactly who she is and what she believes. Her husband, Jeremy, has been at her side for years now, supporting her and keeping her strong. Together, they have a son named Christopher.
> 
> TW: swearing, water, drowning, choking, buried alive mention, blood, cutting, knives, foot injury, hallucination

Water was Star's home. Whenever she was stressed, she would hurry to the nearest beach, nearest creek, lower her legs into the water and relax. She controlled it at will, looking up to the waterbenders from _Avatar_ while she grew up. Katara was an inspiration, to the point that she had a poster of the animated character on her childhood wall.

She never wanted to be afraid of water. She wanted to dive, to explore the deepest reaches of the ocean. The aquarium, the water park, they were all her favorite field trips. She never, ever, _ever_ wanted to be afraid of water.

But as her head dipped below the surface, two heavy hands wrapped around her throat, she feared it more than anything.

It wasn't truly _water_ that she feared - it was drowning. But that was like saying someone wasn't afraid of heights, they were afraid of falling, of the landing at the end. The instant anything closed around her neck - hands, chokers, collars - her body fell into a state of intense panic. Any time her mouth was covered - hands, gags, an oxygen mask - her body shook, shivered, trembled.

What caused this fear was not water, however. Far from it. A war was brewing again, Star kidnapped and teleported to a desert, facing off against a man that could control sand. She was at a disadvantage, the dry surroundings offering no fuel for her Power. The man buried her, letting sand swallow her up, letting it fill her lungs.

She was not the same after that. Star had panicked so intensely that in her addled state, she focused on the first liquid she felt and bent it to feel control over _something._ That liquid was the blood in the veins of allies she considered dear friends. They weren't severely hurt, far from it, but that day changed her.

She would slip off to Hell to torture the sand-controller on a weekly basis. He had been sent there, chained, locked up for her to abuse. Jak, son of Satan himself, had given her special permission to act as the man's jailer. Despite better judgment, despite how pregnancy made her Power wild, she returned week after week to bend his blood and force him into submission.

Perhaps this was revenge, she wondered. Revenge for going too far, for relishing the control she felt. She never raped him, of course, and neither had her new owner. This man liked to call her body disgusting, deepening stretch marks with a knife, never truly delighting in seeing her naked.

What he did delight in was her fear. He would force her into the shower with him, hold her against the wall with his hand around her throat, making her associate water with choking, with death. He would drag her out to the beach, shoving her face against the sand, letting the waves wash up and over her face. He brought her to the edge of blackout again and again and again.

Star didn't want to think about the lasting effects of this. She was losing oxygen so often that she was sure he'd cross a line and inflict hypoxia. He was going to kill her someday, and she hoped to whatever God existed that he didn't. She was a mother, a wife. Her newborn son, Christopher, still needed her, needed his mom. She had no clue if Jeremy was alive or safe.

She was supposed to be safe. Opal, Christopher, Blair, Cassie - they were all supposed to be safe. That dimension they were taken to, it was supposed to be safe. No one could have guessed that Kinfolk had Empowered on his side, especially an Empowered that could cross dimensional walls.

She gasped for air as he released her neck, letting her surface again. The bracelet on her wrist angered her more than his stupid face - she wanted to shove icicles into his brain, or bloodbend his body into the pool he used to torture her. Revenge, she craved it more than freedom. If this man was sent to Hell, she'd request he stay right beside the sand-controller, and she would go twice a week and make sure they regret hurting her.

"How do you feel?" He laughed, watching her shivering body. She had started hyperventilating, coughing up water. Pneumonia would set in soon, she just knew it. Water was staying in her lungs and there was no healer around to fix it. It took all of her nursing degree knowledge to keep herself alive.

Star wanted to curse, to spit at him and force his head underwater. But, oh, how her lips trembled, how her hands shook, how her body shivered. She simply moved away from him, trying to climb out of the pool. He helped her up, getting her standing, pushing strands of her blue hair out of her face. "So messy. So..." He hesitated, staring at her lips, his eyes traveling down her body. Was he finally finding intrigue?

"Don't," she muttered, the only word she could pronounce. She'd bite off any limb he forced in her mouth if he tried anything. But he shook his head, laughing so loudly in her face.

"As if I'd ever fuck something like you." He rolled his eyes, stepping away from her. "Maybe in your dreams, because I know you want this gorgeous body of mine--"

Star doubled over, coughing harshly. She was almost laughing, almost. He was hideous to her, sunburnt and looking all... wrong. He wasn't Jeremy. She didn't want any man but Jeremy. Would Jeremy come rescue her? Hell, wasn't Lance supposed to be here by now?

The man's eye twitched and he walked closer to Star, placing his hands on her shoulders. "You find it fucking funny?" Her eyes looked up at him, sparkling blue despite being filled with tears from coughing so harshly. She nodded slightly, earning a scowl from him. "You bitch!"

He pushed down on her shoulders, shoving her back to the pool. Star screamed out, her back landing flat against the water and knocking what little air she had right out of her. Pain erupted in her ankle, where the skin caught the rough pool edge, red mixing with the blue of the water. She sank under, eyes wide and staring at the man on the other side of the rippling surface.

She struggled, trying to fight her way back to the surface. Her limps felt numb, uncoordinated. She writhed and lashed out with her arms, trying to push herself back up, up to safety. But the surface seemed so far away, so distant. She was dying, dying, _oh God, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die here!_

One finger rose above the surface, and suddenly Star felt constricted, tight, her eyes shutting. Instead of water, she felt sand, hundreds of pounds of sand pushing against her body, trying to drag her under. It was a hallucination, a flashback, but it didn't stop her from thrashing and screaming under the surface.

How did she escape the sand? One of Lance's Celestial friends, a man named Grant, he had opened a portal under and let her fall through. She focused on that, wanting the same result, wanting freedom, and let her body relax. She slipped lower, deeper, deep into darkness that flooded her vision and her lungs.


	19. Today's Special Torture...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 31: Today's Special Torture; along with Alt Prompt 4 - Stitches - and Alt Prompt 13 - Accidents.
> 
> This work revolves around Gray, a man who had a relatively normal life until he was kidnapped by a woman named Zaneta at the age of 17. Being Powerless, the woman saw him as a blank slate, fit for "creating test subjects" with. Zaneta eventually died a gruesome death at the hands of Apex, but the effects of her experiments still linger. Gray had multiple children with Zaneta, but the only living one is Opal. He married Ara not long after she rescued him.
> 
> TW: swearing, needles, blood, vomit, stitches, rape mention, child abuse mention, death mention

Gray was alone.

He was used to being alone, of course. Zaneta used to keep him locked in solitude for weeks at a time, not wishing to interact with him until it was time to "produce a new experiment." He shuddered as her words whispered back into his mind, gripping the knife tighter before slicing back into the raw chicken thigh.

Zaneta was a cruel woman, dead now, a fact that helped Gray sleep at night. She had kidnapped the Powerless man, locked him away in her laboratory. She only interacted with him when he was chained to a bed, her body still sore from labor just two weeks before. Science, that was all she knew. No love, no romance, no real human emotion excluding curiosity.

Their children suffered worse fates than he did. Of the seven, six were killed, their bodies unable to handle the Powers she tried to force into them. The last, the seventh, a small girl by the name of Opal, Gray protected her to the best of his abilities. She remained mute for some time, Zaneta having punished her for making any noise, keeping her locked up in a tiny cage. But Gray knew how to reach that cage, knew how to teach Opal what she needed to know.

Ara and Apex were the best thing to ever happen to Opal. Gray had managed to escape with Opal, running for their life from the reanimated beasts that were once his children. Ara rescued Opal from a burning building, Apex defeated the beast that ripped off Gray's left arm. Ara became like a mother to Opal, a true mother. Apex served as a trainer, occasionally helping the little one control the electric Powers that she wielded.

Most of the time, however, Opal willingly wore a metal cuff that negated all of her Power. She was still scared of herself, of everything she could do. Nobody wanted to force her to act, especially Gray. He wanted her to be comfortable, to be happy.

His heart melted every time Opal hugged onto Ara and whispered, "Mama." How he missed her, by the Seas, oh, how he missed both of them. Opal was safe, she had to be - she was taken away by family friends to hide in a private dimension with other children and recent mothers. Everyone else was supposed to stay, to fight.

Were they all meant to be captured? Taken away, leaving Gray with his thoughts? Leaving him to silently walk to the grocery store, prepare meals for only himself, live off of leftovers most of the time? Was Lance supposed to abandon his home? Take his good sweet time returning?

Gray had run out of leftovers again, trying to work on making more, his mind slipping in and out of focus. He had learned how to use his prosthetic quite well, the metal running from from his shoulder to fingertips. He was still trying to train himself, using utensils with his left hand to steadily grow more and more adept. He hadn't had any accidents yet, and he prayed he wouldn't. There wasn't a healer around, and even if there was, they would not be able to use their Powers.

Were hospitals suffering? EMTs? There was no more instantly healing a grievous injury. Gray squeezed his eyes shut, his squeamish stomach threatening to turn over as he imagined such an injury. Blood, so much blood and gore, he was going to lose his lunch.

Going to wipe the blade with a towel, he paused. He forced his eyes open, staring in horror as what he imagined was real and staring back at him. The knife was stained red, his palm dripping onto the sliced chicken thigh. He never grabbed the towel. Letting out a gasp, he dropped the knife and backed up, hitting the island counter, eyes locked on the gushing gash.

"Fuck!" He squeaked out, grabbing his wrist. More blood oozed out, forcing a gag forth, and he closed his eyes again as pain surged in. _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ "ARA!" He screamed out, hearing only silence in response. Gone. She was still gone. There were still no healers around.

He forced himself to the bathroom, stumbling, trembling, blood trailing behind him. "Come on, come on, stay awake," he whispered, his eyes threatening to shut and stay shut. Fumbling through drawers, pulling them out and emptying their contents, he found a first aid kit and forced it open. Moving all of the little pieces still felt so difficult with his prosthetic, but he found a needle and thread inside.

"There has to be something better," he begged, looking for butterfly bandages, something, anything. But he found gauze, alcohol wipes, and not much more. He ripped open the gauze packaging and pressed it again the wound, watching as blood saturated it quickly. "No, no, fuck--" His throat tightened and he moved to the toilet, squeezing his hand shut before emptying his lunch into the bowl.

Gasping for air, he collapsed against the side of the tub, dizziness washing over him. The needle shone so bright in the soft light, reflecting menacingly. He grabbed it, pulling the gauze away, sending a thankful prayer to the Deity as he found the needle already threaded and tied off.

One swipe of an alcohol wipe that made him shriek later, he had the needle hovering over the skin. He didn't want to watch, he couldn't watch, but he _had_ to. Another cry fell from his lips as he pressed the needle into the thick skin, his heart pulsing in his fingertips. He tilted the curved needle slightly, making a cacophony of agony and whines as he forced the needle back out on the other side of the wound.

"No more, no more," he gasped out, more blood leaking out. He couldn't stop, he knew he couldn't, but tears slipped out as he pushed the needle back in. Despite the growing cold numbness that was starting to overtake his hand, he could feel every little jostle of the needle. Bile rose as he saw the needle exit his skin again, the man trembling as he pulled the thread tight.

By the third suture, Gray's head was feeling heavy, his body ready to give out. He didn't want to do anymore, but at the pace he was moving, it was going to take at least 8 more pass-throughs and another hour of agony. How he wanted to look away, let someone else do this, let someone else handle it. _Why didn't I call 911,_ he silently wondered, words growing more and more difficult. _Why did I fucking do this?_

_Because,_ he felt a voice crop up, his conscience rearing its ugly head. _You know how to do this. You used to stitch up injuries Zaneta gave you. You want to be strong. You don't want the cops that stole your wife to touch you._

All very correct, valid, accurate reasons, Gray decided. He _could_ stitch up himself - of course, that didn't meant he liked to. He clenched his jaw and worked through two more pass-throughs before gasping for air again. He was almost halfway done, the blood caking his palm making it harder and harder to get the thread through.

"Just... a little more," he whispered, gently cleaning his palm with the alcohol swipe. His body was starting to numb, his legs aching from the pose he took, his fingertips cold and pale. A few deep breaths later, he breezed through four more sutures before crying out. Nearly there, nearly done, the pain becoming so sharp and acute that he felt absolute fire from every new puncture. Just two more, two more and the tie-off.

Gray cleaned the wound again, hissing, flinching, then finished the last sutures. He tied it off, cut the thread with his teeth, and relaxed his body back against the tub. Finally, finally, no more fucking needles. He chucked the needle into the hallway with anger, screaming at it. Nearly done, nearly done. Gauze, athletic bandaged wrapped around, the end tucked, and he was done.

He knew he would have to visit the hospital, get the doctors to fix the stitches and make sure there was no infection - the knife was coated in raw chicken juices, after all. But for now, now, he decided it was time to rest. His body gave in to darkness, to sleep, finally finding relaxation.


	20. Toto, I Have a Feeling We’re Not in Kansas Anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 20: Toto, I Have a Feeling We’re Not in Kansas Anymore - Lost/Field Medicine
> 
> This work revolves around Velvet, a girl with bunny ears who has grown so used to bullies and insults. She met Simon at prom years ago, and the boy has been awkwardly pining for her ever since. (I'm sorry-not-sorry about the Ohio jokes, by the way - my boyfriend is from Ohio, these are common talking points for us)
> 
> TW: swearing, blood, guns, death mention

"Simon, where the Hell are we?" Velvet snapped over at Simon, crossing her arms. They had been traveling for hours at this point, journeying as far as they could on foot while light still graced the woods. Simon was adamant to move their location after he returned to their cabin, bleeding and bloody. She still had no clue what happened.

"Well," he started, staring around. "I'd have to guess... Ohio."

Velvet quirked an eyebrow, confused at his guess, especially given how far they had traveled. "And how have you come to this conclusion?"

A little grin spread on his tired face. "I haven't seen a building in four hours. Have you?"

She laughed softly, recalling one of the jokes he'd shown her on his phone before he ditched it, terrified his location was being tracked. "Ohio only has three buildings, doesn't it? I wonder what buildings those are."

"Hmm," he hummed, still grinning, still trying to find happiness while his chest ached and throbbed. "A Wal-Mart is totally one of them."

"Duh." She winced as one of her ears brushed past a low-hanging branch, trying to focus a bit more on breathing steadily and keeping every step silent.

"And there's gotta be like, the Capitol Building, for laws and shit."

"Makes sense," she replied. "Though, I doubt they follow too many laws." A laugh bubbled out of him, a snort mixing with it. "What's the third, then?"

He remained quiet as they traveled further through the forest, trying to think. "A school. Gotta be." Velvet stopped and laughed at his reply, shaking her head. "What? Do the people of Ohio not go to school?"

"There's no way they do!" She was beauty incarnate when she laughed so freely, a noise Simon wished he could hear for years upon years. "Have you ever _talked_ to someone from Ohio--"

A sudden silence washed over the two as the echoing of brush and branches snapping ahead grabbed their attention. Velvet reached for the gun that Simon had gifted to her that morning, the cold metal stained red - was it his blood, or someone else's? She unholstered it, flicked the safety, racked the chamber, and aimed forward with her trigger finger resting away from the trigger.

"Deer?" Simon whispered, his voice barely able to be registered by most humans. But Velvet heard him, heard so much, her rabbit ears sensitive and twitching as she tried to pick up whatever she could. She shook her head slightly, stepping forward cautiously.

Velvet stared deep past the trees, young Spring brush obscuring her vision, but her body relaxed as she saw the culprit. A rabbit. It was scurrying quick, fleeing from a bobcat most likely, uprooted from its home. How Velvet understood, oh, how she understood.

She lowered the gun to her side, putting it back on "safe" and emptying the chamber before approaching, watching the rabbit with keen eyes. Suddenly, it took off again, startled by a twig she snapped. "Wait--" She blurted out, going to chase it down.

"Velvet?!" She heard Simon shout after her, following her as she sped after the rabbit. "Velvet, what are you doing?!"

No answers, she decided. The rabbit knew safety - no, it _was_ safety. If she caught it, they could eat, though the idea made her stomach want to turn. Simon could eat. Or, perhaps it knew a safe location, a place they could hide away from humans and predators. Whichever it was, Velvet couldn't stop her feet from moving, from carrying her away.

Simon was panting by the time he caught up, the girl having skidded to a stop. "What... What the fuck, Velvet, I..." His hand moved to the bandages on his chest, the bandages he hid from her, from the stab suffered just this morning. The wound opened, he could feel it. A harsh cough startled the rabbit girl, making her spin around.

"Shh!" She hushed him before turning back to what was in front of her. A cabin, a new cabin, a new home. It looked only recently abandoned, perhaps serving as a vacation home for a small family. One of the windows was broken, the door ajar, the rabbit she chased having dove in through the gap. Hesitant once again, she stepped forward, watching for stray nails sticking out of the wood, and pushed the door open the rest of the way.

It was a small cabin, but there were amenities. An old stove that ran off firewood, a bed with a mattress that didn't look disgusting or misused, candles abound. Velvet pulled a lighter from her pocket and lit one of the candles, sighing in slight relaxation. "She knew where to go," Velvet whispered. "Knew where to hide. Just like me. Just like us."

She stared at the flame for a while, ears twitching slightly as she heard the little rabbit making its way to its burrow in the crawlspace. Her mind was drifting far, far away. This world, oh, how it changed. But it still felt all the same as what she knew. Her parents were killed by Powerless bastards when she was just a child, leaving her to live with her restrictive aunt. Running, running away once again, it was all she knew. Location was all that changed.

And, companionship. That changed, too. Her eyes flicked up from the flame to look at Simon, watching with intrigue as he slid off his shirt. Wait - was he hurt? She rose back to her feet, walking closer to him, eyeing the bandages on his chest, just above his right breast. They were bloody, really bloody, stinking of iron. "Simon..?"

He flinched back away from her, looking away. "Simon, tell me what happened," she whispered again, her voice so soft, so gentle, so foreign to her own ears. "Who hurt you? Who do I need to hurt?"

Simon shook his head, setting his shirt down before kneeling by his backpack. "You don't have to do anything. I... I handled it."

Her mind focused on the gun at her side. "Did you kill someone?" His breath hitched, fingers trying to pry off the bandages, pulling at a few dark hairs and making his nostrils flare. "It's okay if you did, you had to defend yourself, right? They hurt you."

"Velvet," he mumbled, finishing pulling off the bandages. Underneath was a deep wound, a few inches long, dark blood oozing from it. "I didn't have to shoot them, I could've run, I... I could've flown away, I-I..." His voice cracked as he pulled out his first aid kit, opening it and digging for bandages.

"Hush," she started, kneeling beside him. "Give that here." Reluctantly, meeting her eyes with a broken gaze, he handed the kit over. She pulled alcohol wipes from it along with a large roll of gauze. "They recognized you, yes?"

He nodded, wincing as she began to clean the wound. "There were two guys, they... they wanted my money, or they were gonna turn me in, I couldn't... I should've..." He fumbled over his words, trying to fight the tears that threatened to slip down his scruff-laden cheeks.

"Killing them was the right thing." Velvet wiped the alcohol along the edges of the wound before cutting a piece of gauze and pressing it against his skin. "They obviously had a gun. They would have killed you." He stayed silent for a moment, watching as she focused, taping the gauze to his skin with deft fingers.

"What would you have done?" He asked, forcing her eyes to glance upwards and meet his. "If... if they killed me, what would you have done?"

Velvet looked back at her work, grabbing a long athletic bandage and working on wrapping it around his shoulder, under his armpit, making sure it stayed secure. "Well," she began, grabbing safety pins and finishing the wrap. "I would have hunted them down. I would have killed them. Perhaps killed their family. Killed anyone that stood in my way."

Pain laced her voice, her words cracking as Simon placed a hand on her cheek, forcing her to look at him again. "Why?"

"Because..." She adjusted how she was sitting, moving closer to him. "Because I don't want anything bad to happen to you. And if something bad does happen, I'll enact proper revenge." _Because I want to protect you, keep you safe, hold the courage that your brother Lance always held._

 _Because I love you,_ she wanted to say, but her mouth wouldn't form the words. They had talked about their relationship, decided they would be partners, but she still could not say the words. Part of her feared that he would die the instant she said them. Still, she moved closer, gently kissing him on the lips and smiling.

"I think we found the third building in Ohio," she breathed, pulling away and packing up the med kit. The boy stared, flustered, unsure what she meant. "It's not school, of course. It's this." She stood, put away the kit, helped him to his feet. "It's our new home."


	21. I Don't Feel So Well...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 21: I Don't Feel So Well... - Hypothermia/Infection
> 
> This work revolves around Opal, a girl who was born into a life of experimentation and abuse. Her mother, Zaneta, despised it whenever Opal made any sort of noise, the little one eventually becoming nearly mute. When Ara rescued her and Gray, however, Opal eventually found her voice again - along with love that she had lacked for so long.
> 
> TW: child abuse, starvation, drowning

It was an accident. A complete accident. She didn't hear the ice cracking underfoot. She didn't mean to splash into the freezing water. She didn't want to get soaked to the bone.

Opal was left bundled in a bunk bed, shivering intensely, watching her roommates file in and out for meals, for sleep, for work, for punishment. Some were younger than her, most not understanding just what was going on. They were forced to work under different overseers, doing whatever menial labor they could manage.

Opal's job was fishing, foraging, gathering whatever she food she could. If she didn't gather enough, kids would go hungry, because the overseers had to eat first, of course. These five grown men could hardly spare enough food for the children out of their feasts. Opal herself went hungry often, sneaking bites of mushrooms and other roots when she could while working.

She had been fishing, a hole cut in the ice, her wobbly bare knees freezing against the surface. The first snowfall of the year had blanketed the entire camp, the entire forest, and it refused to melt. The fish weren't biting anymore, the lake not deep enough for them to want to move, to want to remain active and use up their precious energy.

The man that watched over foraging forced Opal to the center of the lake, the ice thinner, the water deeper. She cut a hole, her bare hands trembling and red, her nose ruby and aching. She dropped a line down inside, sitting back as a shiver wracked her body. He barked orders, yelled over the _crack_ beneath her.

It wasn't an accident. It was on purpose. They didn't want her to hear it crack. They wanted her to fall into the lake. They wanted her to be completely drenched.

They wanted her to die.

But a confident gloved hand grasped Opal's as she threatened to sink and slip under the ice. "I'VE GOT YOU!" A voice screamed, struggling to heave the drowning girl out. When Opal was finally out, clinging to the girl that dragged her out, her mind was empty, completely empty. She didn't hear the overseer scream at the red-head holding her, didn't hear how the red-head screamed back. She didn't even register anything new until she was back in her bunk bed, wet clothes stripped from her body, bundled in three thick blankets stolen from other beds.

"You're okay," the red-head repeated over and over, bringing a warm soup to Opal. Stole it right from an overseer's table, the girl explained, forcing Opal to drink. Stole it and didn't give a damn about consequences.

Opal's blue eyes searched over the red-head's face, a groan slipping out as her vision began to swirl, little stars shining behind her eyelids. It was another kid, one primarily on laundry duty, her hair so bright and beautiful that Opal recognized it even in her delirium. Her name, however, was completely absent, along with any sort of facial recognition.

"They wanted you to die," the girl explained, adding another blanket before pressing the back of her hand against Opal's cheek. "God, you're still freezing... I'll get more soup."

When Opal opened her eyes again, the red-head was gone. The room was empty, too, until the door was suddenly shoved in. An older man was forced inside - he wasn't any of the overseers, so why was he in the camp? He looked over, seeing the small girl and rushing to her side, his cheeks bruised, his eyes brilliantly green. He mumbled something, likely her name, but her ears felt like cotton had been stuffed inside them.

Titan. She recognized him from his eyes. Those eyes were always so bright, so full of love for his wife and husband and children. But he looked sad, scared, worried about the daughter of his friend. Was Mama worried about Opal? Was Ara even thinking of Opal? Was Papa? Why didn't Grandpapa come and save her, why didn't Lance come home and save everyone? Why was Titan allowed to look so battered and broken?

He stayed by her side, fighting off overseers when they tried to remove him, punching one square in the nose and knocking them flat. They shocked him for that, his screams echoing faintly in Opal's ears. But oh, oh how she trembled and shivered and shook. She couldn't feel warm, no matter now much she bundled up, no matter how much he held her close, getting her warm clothes and hot soup and stew.

Where did she go? The red-head? Did they kill her for stealing? She no longer filed in and out with the other children. Why couldn't Opal think straight, why couldn't she get warm?

"Titan," she coughed out one morning. Her cheeks were red, the bags under her eyes dark and dreary. She reached for his hand, for comfort of a trusted adult the fourteen-year-old needed but so often lacked. "I can't... I'm not..." He turned his body to her, giving her his full attention. "I can't get warm, I'm... I'm gonna..."

She started coughing again, harder. The world spun around her, the wood walls melting into the floor. Titan looked so far away, so distant, his warmth just out of reach. "Tell Mama I'm... Tell her that I..."

Titan shook his head, spoke again in a garbled voice. She closed his eyes and felt his hand on her cheek, the faintest heat spreading from his fingertips. Her breathing was growing slower, weaker.

"I love her, tell Mama, tell Papa, I love them," she rambled out, mumbling, murmuring. Darkness was swallowing her up, freezing her solid, she couldn't breathe. "Love them, love them," she whispered again and again, trying to make sure he heard her when she could hardly hear herself.

When she opened her eyes again, she was in his arms, a bowl being pressed to her lips. The red-head, she was whispering something, forcing Opal to drink, worry lacing her brilliant, beautiful eyes. "I've got you," Opal heard. "I'm not letting you die, I'm not letting you die!"

Warmth spread from her gut, her throat, trying to reach every extremity. But her toes still felt so numb, so did her fingers. She reached one hand up to the red-head, trying to grasp with frozen red digits, trying to feel anything. The girl took Opal's hand and gently, so gently, kissed one finger. Almost instantly, feeling rushed back into her hand with the pulsing of her quickened heartbeat.

"Shh... I'm not letting you die." The redhead smiled, such a sweet smile. Did she use Power? Did she risk her life again and again to save Opal's? Why? _Why?_ Opal closed her eyes again, trying to accept the heat, let it flow through her body. As she did, the darkness stole her away once more, leaving her cocooned in safety.


	22. Do These Tacos Taste Funny To You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 22: Do These Tacos Taste Funny To You? - Poisoned/Drugged
> 
> This work revolves around Fenne, a woman who was raised as a warmonger in an alternate dimension while her mother, Prim, was trapped in cryostasis. Since Kian, one of her fathers due to fusion (the other being Titan), is from a Saiyan bloodline, Fenne herself is the dimension's current Legendary Super Saiyan. Her berserker spirit is hard to restrain when her Powers are allowed to run rampant, leading her to make many questionable decisions. Sun is her girlfriend, and Haku was the son they adopted. Her older brothers are Simon and Lance.
> 
> TW: swearing, non-con, mutilation, poisoning, chained, force-fed, cannibalism, child death mention

"Eat up."

Fenne stared at the meal in front of her, her stomach churning. It was a steak, sliced in half, pink in the middle. There was a sprig of rosemary sliding off of the melting butter pat, moving to land with the pile of steamed greens. Everything about this felt wrong. Rancid. The steak was fresh and grilled and perfect yet everything about it told Fenne to not eat it. Even with the smell, sweet, tempting, drawing forth growls of her gut, Fenne's mouth watering, she knew not to eat it.

"No," she whispered, defiance bubbling up against the murderer standing on the other side of the table. "I refuse."

Kinfolk narrowed his eyes, moving closer to the table. "Perhaps you need _help,_ Fenne." He grabbed the fork, the dulled knife, and sliced off a piece. He held the piece to her lips, glaring as she kept her mouth firmly shut. "Eat."

She shook her head slightly, the smell drifting right into her nose. Her heterochromic eyes glimmered in the soft dining light, shimmering blue and green as she stared back at him. This wasn't the first piece of meat he held to her lips. One day, he'd learn how hard she could bite.

For now, he grabbed her cheeks, forcing her mouth open. He shoved the bite in and held her mouth closed, anger burning in his eyes. "Bite. Chew." She hesitated and he gripped her face tighter. "Chew or I will force it down your fucking throat and watch you choke."

Fenne bit down on the meat, hating at how perfectly cooked it was, how deliciously juicy it was. She knew exactly what kind of steak it was. Beef? Oh, she wished. Pork? Some sort of cattle alien? No, no, no. Stars, no. Human. It was human, and it tasted _intoxicating._

"Isn't that better?" Kinfolk mused, letting go of her face and cutting up more of the steak for her. "You haven't eaten in a few days. You've grown so thin." He forced her to eat another bite, this one wrapped in greens. A smile spread across his face as she ate, watching how her pupils dilated, how her body began to break down the oils the greens held within.

That flower was a miracle, transplanted from West Virginia and grown in many different California fields that he owned. _Lilium hypnotica,_ a new species of lily that was far more hallucinogenic than others in its genus. It was a beautiful flower, white with pink tips, and smelled sweeter than any drug or candy. The bulbs, stems, leaves, roots, petals, every inch of the flower caused a different type of sensation.

For now, Kinfolk focused on the leaves and stems, having another slave cook them down as the perfect side dish. He could see, Fenne's hand beginning to tremble, her jaw growing slack as a numbness crept through her body. She forced herself to look up, swallowing, and gasping out, "Poison?"

"No, no," he laughed, setting down the fork and gently caressing her cheek. "My dear little monster, I would never kill you." She coughed, trying to pull away from his hand, her biceps tugging on the bindings that kept her in her chair. A sinister tone crept into his voice. _"I just like making you suffer."_

Fenne cried out as pain shot through her skull, squeezing her eyes shut. Kinfolk laughed and pushed more food into her mouth, relishing in this, in the power he held over her. The stems, their secret surprise lied in mental assault. Headaches, intense ones that made her eyes feel like they bulged out, like a knife was digging in beneath her skull.

The girl was sobbing by the time she was done eating, unable to hold her head, wipe away her tears. Kinfolk ran a thumb along her cheek, grinning, placing a kiss on her forehead that drew a whimper from her lips. "Come now, little one. What's the problem? Sad? Scared? You can always tell me."

Her eyes slowly opened, her vision distorted, head pounding. "He'll kill you," she whispered. "Lance will kill you for even touching me..." She wasn't supposed to know that name. Lance had removed himself from her memory after her desperate attempts to gain his love, after she accepted a dark bargain and yearned to prove her strength by trying to kill him. But Kinfolk, he made her remember.

Why? Why would he open up such a beacon of hope for her mind to focus on? Did he think she would believe Lance abandoned her? No, no, she knew Lance. Deep down, she knew he would come for her. Yet Kinfolk's words were breaking through. Did Lance abandon the dimension because of her stupidity? Was she doomed to eternal suffering?

_Did she deserve this punishment?_

"Silly little girl," he mumbled back, staring deep into her eyes. "You're alone. You're all alone. You're my pet, my personal little pet. No one knows you're here. No one ever will."

Hatred burned in her throat. Sun, her girlfriend, knew Fenne was with Kinfolk. But Sun was sold off, sent to Stars-know-where. Was she safe? Was she alive? Oh, oh how Fenne hoped Sun was alive. She loved Sun, loved her more than anything. Together, they had loved their adopted son, little Haku, but...

A shiver ran through Fenne as she saw Haku's face in her mind. Stained with black blood, throat slit, body cold. Kinfolk killed their son right in front of them. And, just a week later, sold off Sun. Depression was wreaking havoc on Fenne's mind, tearing her apart, making it harder for her to get through each day. Still, she fought against Kinfolk, still, she pressed on.

However, with the pounding headache the greens gave her, the nausea ruminating in her gut from the forced cannibalism, her body was numbing more and more. She didn't feel it when Kinfolk loosened her restraints, her mind distant as he pulled her to her feet, straightened her maid's dress, let his hands linger on her chest.

For hating Empowered so much, the man loved Fenne. Or, did he love hating her? Did he love hurting her? Did he love breaking her? He pulled her out of the kitchen, guiding her stumbling bare feet back to his office, his room-with-a-view. Los Angeles. Hollywood. A beautiful town filled with lies, lies spun by Kinfolk, the town, the _country,_ left in his web.

Lance wasn't coming fast enough, Fenne knew it. She had to act, had to fight back. But the electric bracelet on her wrist was too big of an obstacle, too strong. Such simple stupid metal was hindering the strongest Empowered on Earth. A wince slipped from her lips as he forced her to her knees on the hardwood floor, the unbuckling of his belt distant, familiar.

Her eyes lazily drifted upwards, the room spinning around the psychotic smile Kinfolk held. He grabbed her hair, forced back open her mouth, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She despised how familiar this pose had become, how day after day, he would make her do this. Yet, his own word echoed in her mind, a chanting, an order that she could not ignore.

"Bite."


	23. What’s a Whumpee Gotta do to Get Some Sleep Around Here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 23: What’s a Whumpee Gotta do to Get Some Sleep Around Here? - Exhaustion/Narcolepsy/Sleep Deprivation
> 
> This work revolves around Loftkennd, more commonly known as LK. She was once a pirate, her love of the sea never fading from her heart even as she traveled the land and fought for good. Her wife is Dakota, and their adopted son is Evan - as far as her other blood-related family, LK does not care to know or remember them.
> 
> TW: swearing, starvation, dehydration, cult mention, broken bones, rape mention, blood, gore

This was getting rough. Life. Captivity. The torturous room LK was kept in. She was going to die at this rate, die if they ever withheld the healing drugs they administered daily. Was it really daily? It was hard to tell. Time was blurring together, shifting in her dazed mind.

Heat. Burning, blazing, dry heat. No water. No food. Just enough stimulants in the concoction of injections that became one of the few sources of physical interaction she knew. Felicity was no longer visiting, that rapist knocked down to size by Dakota and a baseball bat.

Dakota, oh, how LK loved her. She loved her wife more than anything, more than life itself. A close second was their son, a boy named Evan, a grown adult now, with a job, without Powers. His Powers - wings, healing magic, light magic - were gifted by serums when he was but a child, and they were ripped away again - literally, his wings cut and ripped from his back - by Andromeda's disgusting cult.

 _Not Andromeda,_ LK had to remind herself. _Faith._ Faith was hardly different from Kinfolk. They despised Powers. Craved for the Powerless to rule the world once more. But it wasn't like the Empowered were forcing Powerless out of public duties. They just wanted to live in peace.

LK had lived a lifetime of opposition. After she escaped the pirate crew that held her captive, an older teenager on the run, she was hiding her Powers and stealing to win, to live. Luck was her friend and it carried her to Florida, carried her right to the bar that Dakota was in. Dakota's father, a man named Dead, worked so hard to get Empowered equal rights. And now, people were trying again and again to tear it back down.

Still, LK had been so sure that they would survive, that they would thrive. Yet, as she stared at the television screens that dotted each wall, every single one showing a view into Dakota's room, she wondered if they could survive this one. Hope had surged into her chest when Dakota fought back, but it was beaten back down as a large man, "Papa," dragged Felicity out and beat the ever-loving Hell out of Dakota.

This was a nightmare. LK found it hard to even touch her own body, her dark skin flushed red and burning hot. Her mind was spinning, cohesion a thing of the past. She could understand the televisions, understand the screens. Her voice was raw, sore, shrieks echoing around her as every blow hit Dakota. They loved to break her wife's bones, snap snap snap until it was time to drug her, keep her awake, keep her in pain.

Sleep. How LK _craved_ it. They were not allowed sleep, never, adrenaline mixed in the concoction and keeping their bodies moving, reacting. Dakota finally got a chance to close her eyes and rest after her body gave out, after darkness enveloped her when she bashed in Felicity's skull. LK felt almost _jealous_ that Dakota got those precious minutes. No matter how hard she tried, she could barely close her itchy, dry eyes.

She wanted to sleep, to draw a cool bath and rest against the back and drift off while Dakota watched over her. Water, she craved it as much as sleep. She was a siren, those Powers forced onto her by another siren that grew too close for comfort. Her voice was enchanting, controlling, a Power she despised using. But the other half of those Powers including water manipulation. LK had always felt free at sea, sailing with hardly a destination in mind, and that Power accentuated that feeling.

The Powers she was born with, however, revolved around three ideals - weapon formation, invisibility, and Luck. Luck, it saved her countless times, getting her out of situations that should have killed her. It had the tendency to kick in whenever it wanted, however, and abandoned her when she desperately needed it - such as when she was captured, arrested, sold away and locked away and tortured day after day.

A groan slipped from her lips as bile rose into her throat, burning her from the inside out. Her eyelids were beginning to shut, her mind's focus slipping away from the screens. Dakota was being hit again, "Papa" bruising his knuckles against her bloody face. LK wanted to scream, wanted to tell him to stop, everything in her heart aching upon seeing her wife so brutally abused... but she couldn't, she couldn't speak anymore. She tried and all that came out was a pained croak.

Her head lolled to the side, jagged dark brown hair falling in front of those itchy eyes. Sleep was near, oh, oh how it teased and taunted her with darkness dancing in the corners of her vision. Finally, it filled her eyes, her breath slowing, her mind relaxing. Sleep. Perfect, beautiful sleep.

A sudden noise startled LK. How long were her eyes closed? Thirty seconds? Thirty minutes? She looked up, watching as a girl stepped into the room. Felicity. A bandage was wrapped around her head, bloody on the right side. Were the healing drugs not effective on her? Did she refuse to take them? Or did "Papa" not allow healing for his daughter?

"Hi again, dyke." Felicity closed the door behind her. A bat was in her hands, still stained red from her blood, from Dakota's blood. A chain had been wrapped around it, nails hammered in to keep it in place. Never before had "Papa" allowed Felicity to injure LK, the girl resorted to rape as her method of torture. But now, no, Felicity didn't give a damn what Papa said.

LK tried to move away, her body refusing to act, refusing to change position. Felicity stepped closer, anger flaring to life in her eyes. "I saw you sleeping on the cameras. You know that's not allowed." Still, no response, LK's voice stuck in her burning chest. "Papa still says I can't hit you. But I don't give a fuck what he has to say."

She should be dead, she should be rotting in the ground after the blow Dakota landed. Yet, here she was, ready to punish. "This," she started, swinging the bat against LK's head. LK cried out, the nails stabbing into her head. She was going to die, she was going to fucking _die_ here. "This is for sleeping. For breaking our rules."

LK coughed out, blood dripping down the side of her head, her body threatening to collapse. Felicity struck again, drawing a pained scream that echoed across the hall, Dakota spitting insults at "Papa" when she heard LK hurt. "And _that_ was for your stupid whore wife hitting me!"

 _No more,_ LK tried to beg, blood now gushing from her skull, the bone cracked and shattered. Would any amount of healing drug fix this? Would any amount of magical healing from Lance fix this? _Please,_ she began to pray, _Please, Lance, save us, come save us, please, I'm going to die, I'm going to die--_

Felicity cracked the bat against LK's head once more. Her body collapsed entirely, skin smoldering against the heated tile floor. Darkness enveloped her exhausted mind once more, drawing her out of reality as blood pooled below her head.


	24. You're Not Making Any Sense...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 24: You're Not Making Any Sense - Forced Mutism/Sensory Deprivation
> 
> This work revolves around Rose, a woman who does not let any "disadvantage" hold her back. Blinded at a young age, she has grown used to her life, reluctant to rely on others for help. However, she does have a soft spot for her hsuband, Jay, willing to fall back on the steadiness he brings. Together, they have two children - Bella and Jeremy. Rose's father is Crow, and her half-sister is Prim.
> 
> TW: swearing, gagged, blood, gore, whipping, choking

Rose was used to darkness. She was blinded at a young age by her vengeful, abusive mother, her other senses growing heightened with intense training. She could smell the sickly sweet scent of angel from one hundred yards, the brimstone stench of a demon from two hundred yards. A rat scurrying across the floor was easy to hear, a pin drop audible in a crowded loud room. Every touch of her husband's hand was its own pleasurable sensation, every flavor on her tongue intense and complex. 

If she had not trained, the world would be incredibly over-stimulating. There was so much more to the world than what her eyes could sense. But she learned. With help from her family, from her half-sister Prim, her adoptive mother Alice, her biological father Crow, she learned. She didn't imagine she could learn even more from Jay. 

Rose was not the sappy kind. Public displays of affection flustered her and made her fidget anxiously. But Jay, their relationship bloomed out of proximity, born in space with their daughter and adopted son. Bella, Jeremy, two kids Rose doubted she would ever have. Occasionally, negative thoughts used to creep in, wondering who would ever take the time to love a blind woman like her. Jay, however, he knew she was more than her blindness. He knew how strong she truly was. 

Yet now, she felt so weak, so broken. Her hands were tied behind her, around the back of a chair. Her legs and thighs were tied down as well. A gag was placed in her mouth, a simple cloth that dug into the corners of her lips and knotted at the back of her head. The taste of it was wretched, sweat-drenched, how it reeked of use. The first few days they put it on her, she wanted to vomit. Every time it was removed and she was fed bland gruel, she wanted to fight back, fight being gagged again, but it was useless.

However, that wasn't the worst part. Her ears, her captors had sincerely fucked with those. Hands had slammed over her ears repeatedly, disorienting her. Afterwards, two small objects were put into her ears. Hearing aids, she had guessed, but they were far from aiding her. She could no longer hear the smallest noises - hell, she couldn't even hear _footsteps._ When she did, she had no idea which direction they came from. Her spatial hearing had been altered. 

It was all a set up to make Rose panic. For the first few sessions, she refused. Of course, she flinched when a whip cracked against a spot she didn't expect, when a fist collided with flesh that did not match any of the audio cues. Still, she refused to show fear, laughing behind the gag when a hit fell short.

Her heart pounded against her ribs when she heard _something_ creep in. Clapping. Applause. An audience. Jeers and cheers for every wound they inflicted. They were so careful about breaking through her skin, careful about touching any blood they spilled. They did their research, knew how poisonous her blood was. They didn't want a body _exploding_ to be part of their show. 

Still, there was an audience. People clamoring for her limbs to be broken, yes, strike the whip across her thigh, show us her body, show us her agony. Rose wanted to kill every single freak in the room for putting her on display. How much was admission? How much was her pain worth? 

So often, her mind drifted to Jay. Was he in this audience? Did they bring other captives in? Was she the only show? 

After a period of silence, of absolute darkness, Rose finally heard noise again. A voice, almost distorted, twisted. "Tonight, for you, we showcase _Blind Beauty._ See how she flinches, see how startled she appears. She knows not where any hit comes from, her body unable to prepare. Now, sir, where would you like her to be hit?"

Silence filled the void after her captor's words. She was getting used to his voice by now, how it made her think of weasels, of rats. She could picture him, gangly, slightly hunched, so often wringing his hands - just like an old cartoon villain she could just barely remember from childhood. His death would be pathetic, pitiful. 

_"Surprise me."_

A chill ran down Rose's spine at the reply. Despite the distortion, despite how chains and tools rattled around her, blending with his voice, she recognized it. Recognized it from the television, from the news channels Jay had kept running constantly to gather information. Kinfolk. Kinfolk himself, kingpin, president. 

Rose bit down on the gag as a whip ran its length along her bare thigh, slicing through the only tattoo she bore. A rose, of course, she wasn't too imaginative but Jay said it was beautiful. He used to trace it ever so gently, mumbling the colors so she could picture it. Laughter flooded her ears, deep, ringing with a warped vibrato that made her head spin. Kinfolk was all around her, enveloping her senses.

Rope wrapped around her neck next, tightening. The cries that bled out were muffled by the gag, and Kinfolk let out a disappointed hum at that fact. "Remove the gag. I want to hear her." Obliging, the disgusting cloth being untied, removed. Rose coughed, crying again as her captor tightened the rope further.

Her hands clenching tight, the edges of the chair digging into her upper arms as she tensed up. "Stop--" She blurted out, her lips numbing, tears starting to slip out. Kinfolk stared, stared at her beauty, at the glistening stars on her eyelashes lit by the stage lights. Her parted lips drew his attention the most, focusing on the melody of pain she unleashed.

Finally, the rope loosened, Rose gasping for breath. A throbbing spread through her forehead, traveling from temple to temple. Kinfolk clapped, before demanding more. More pain, more torture. Her captor whipped her thigh again, stepping back away from the poisonous blood that spilled.

"Why are you afraid of her blood?" Kinfolk asked, the captor explaining the quality it held. If the nullification bracelet had not been on her wrist, she could have controlled the blood, stabbed both men, bathed the room in their guts. "Interesting," he mused. "Collect it."

The captor hesitated, she could tell by the tightness that swarmed around her head. Her jaw clenched as he replied, unable to hear his defiance. Before she knew it, she felt a cold glass vial against her skin, the blood being collected. Oh, oh that was a mistake, and she began to laugh. 

"Now, shut her up," Kinfolk ordered. He seemed closer, as if he took the glass from her captor. The man obliged, putting the disgusting gag back on her. When his hands drew close, she could smell the twisted iron scent of her own blood. He messed up, he knew he did, he was trembling, his breath rattling. 

Rose tilted her head slightly, hearing a door open, unsure of how distant it was. When was it going to happen? Was Kinfolk going to watch the man die? Every breath was terse, tense. Was this rat finally going to die? She got her answer when she felt blood spray across her body, painting her skin, clothes, hair. The very sound was sickening, bile and gruel rising into her throat at the stench. 

_"Whoops,"_ Kinfolk chuckled, the door clanging shut. Rose's captor was finally dead, finally and truly, in a disgusting display that Kinfolk seemingly _enjoyed._ That man was Powerless - why was his death so well-received? Was Kinfolk really that psychotic?

Rose struggled more in her chair, trying to keep a calm mind, but the sticky feeling of the drying blood was making her gut turn and churn. Out, out, she wanted out, _please someone, get me out!_

How much time passed? The blood had dried to the point where she could hardly feel it anymore, a solid layer caked on her flesh. Was anyone coming? Was anyone ever coming? Was her husband coming? What about Prim? Prim's husbands? Hell, where was her nephew, Lance? Where did everyone _go?_ Was this battle lost? Was Rose going to die here?

As panic truly settled into her heart, tears slipping from her damaged eyes, she focused on Jay. Focused on his face, and how she prayed he was still alive, on his way, ready to save her. She wanted nothing more to relax in his arms. For now, however, she was left to suffer alone, utterly and completely alone.


	25. I Think I'll Just Collapse Right Here, Thanks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 25: I Think I'll Just Collapse Right Here, Thanks - Disorientation/Blurred Vision/Ringing Ears
> 
> This work revolves around Bach, a man born with a love for all things music. He met Cassie in high school marching band, eventually marrying her after graduation and having a daughter, Blair, with her. His family is relatively normal and kind, though he doesn't speak of them often.
> 
> TW: swearing, abuse mention, death mention

A haze settled over New Orleans as Bach stared out of the window. He did not get sleep last night, a sensation that was becoming more and more familiar as the weeks went by. Sleep was allowed if he could attain it, if he could finally find his way through the passages of his mind and achieve rest. Every step of the way, however, he was met with heavy resistance.

His hand traveled to the back of his head, fingers shakily pulling at the locked buckle that dug into his scalp. He still couldn't figure it out, couldn't work out the contraption that kept the headphones tightly clamped over his ears. The music, the cacophany of bells, whistles, crashes, discordant instruments, it was getting softer and softer every day. 

Bach did not despise his owner. She was a kind woman, truly, by the name of Marcie Levie. She fed him, gave him any amenity he required. He was gifted to her, a present from her father, and she tried to explain to Bach that she resented her father for spending so much money on a human being instead of helping her café stay afoot. Her father's reasoning was that Bach could help around, work downstairs as free aid. Marcie refused.

The headphones, they were her father's design. When he learned Bach was not working, he tested out a new invention. The headphones were secure, incredibly so, and there was no possible was for Bach to remove them. The noise-making device was in his pocket, the battery life was impossibly long, the zipper on his pants locked up with a small padlock. 

He could take scissors, if he wanted. Cut the cord. And he threatened to, threatened Marcie that he would. Yet, he saw the panic in her eyes when he tried. He knew, though she wouldn't say, that her father would tear her life apart if Bach defied. Thus, he suffered. 

Bach was a virtuoso. He trained from a young age, going to different teachers, even teaching himself at times, learning how to play nearly every single instrument on Earth. While most of it was due to his passion for music, the desire also lied in his Power. He could create _magic_ with music he created. "Flight of the Bumblees" summoned bees to fight for him. Any sort of lullaby put his intended target to sleep. He was limited by the sheet music he had memorized and his own imagination.

He had a wife, a daughter. Cassie, she was a handful, and she hadn't always been that way. Her Powers were ripped from her when she was a child, and she gained the ability to read minds after a sailing trip with her family. It was that ability that showed how her then-boyfriend was abusive, an absolute liar that didn't love her, a man only wanted a quick fuck. 

Bach was there to pick up the pieces, to defend her and keep her safe. She always mentioned that he made her mind feel absolutely calm amidst the agonizing pain of hearing thoughts from all across New York City. However, her entire personality shifted after seeing her twin sister die in front of her. Sure, Ara came back, but for a solid ten minutes, Cassie lost control. Her mind unraveled, allowing shadows to creep in, to wrap around her heart and tighten. Was it because her Papa, Lance, missed Ara's death? Did she blame him, did she blame the man that raised her?

Because of this, Cassie willingly wore a suppression bracelet. While she did, she was her normal happy self. She kept her pink teddy bear close to her chest at all times, curled close to Bach at night as fear settled in, fear of a seizure making her fall from the bed and severely injure herself. He always held her close, always held her so her head rested against his chest, so her body could relax to the beat of his heart.

He missed her. But he missed just one person more - Blair, their daughter. Cassie was attacked two separate times during her pregnancy, and many believed that the experimental drug that was injected into her altered Blair. The little girl had three eyes, three brilliant, beautiful eyes. Her hair was as pink as cotton candy. And her smile was absolutely _captivating,_ though that could have just been Bach's heart soaring with pride and joy and pure happiness upon witnessing such a precious sight.

Bach felt a smile creep onto his weary face as he pictured her in his mind. He kept going for her, kept staying alive for her. She was among those safe in a different dimension, no harm would come to her. All he had to do was weather the storm and soon enough, he would be able to hold his daughter again.

Amidst the cacophany, Bach heard the low thud of a door slamming shut. He turned to Mr. Levie, the scum-of-a-father that Marcie was unlucky to possess. The tall man approached Bach, looking over the virtuoso with analytical eyes. His lips moved but Bach did not hear what he said. 

Glancing behind Mr. Levie, Bach saw Marcie rush out of her bedroom. She was shouting, yelling at Mr. Levie, and judging from her hand gestures, she was trying to get her father to move away from Bach. But, her father refused. He stepped around to the side of Bach, pulling a small key and unlocking the padlock to remove the device. 

Bach's hands flew to his ears, holding the headphones as _silence_ suddenly filled his ears. A sharp ringing took its place, making his head shake. He looked to Marcie, swearing he could see three of her. He had grown too used to the noise, too complacent with the pain. Trying to back away, Mr. Levie grabbed Bach's arm and brought him closer.

Noise once again filled the headphones, a blaring screeching orchestra that was ten times louder than the previous track. Bach immediately dropped to a knee, trying to curl up, his stomach turning and twisting as his scream mixed with the dissonance. He shook his head, pulling at the headphones, trying to rip them right off of his head. 

When did Mr. Levie leave? Marcie gently tried to lift Bach up, get him on his feet, but he could hardly move. He met her gaze, his vision blurring and distorting further with tears and agony. He did not know what he was saying, what he was yelling at her. His lips moved but he had no clue what came out. 

Marcie placed her hands on his cheeks. She was crying, actively crying upon seeing him in such a state. Once again, she tried to get him to stand, but his legs gave out as he collapsed. She screamed his name, tried to shake his body, tried to get him to move. Though, while he breathed, while his eyes stared ahead and his breaking nails bled and his cheeks turned red, he was completely unresponsive, totally debilitated by the newest "music" her father had prescribed.


	26. If You Thought the Head Trauma Was Bad...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 26: If You Thought the Head Trauma Was Bad... - Migraine/Concussion/Blindness
> 
> This work revolves around Cassie, a woman who once lived a normal, happy life. Darkness has crept into her mind, however, Powers surging forth after multiple traumatic events. Her husband is Bach, their daughter Blair. She is the twin sister of Ara, daughter of Andromeda and Ben, granddaughter of Dead and Norga.
> 
> TW: swearing, death mention, cult mention, blood, caged, knives mention, premature birth mention, bruising

Glass. Was it glass? No, it couldn't be. Cassie's shrieks would have shattered it by now. Her throat was growing raw and sore, bile burning her esophagus. Would she ever stop screaming? Could she stop?

The shadows were growing closer, stronger, louder. In waves, they battered walls of her transparent cage, hoping to crack it, hoping to break her free. Would it be possible? Could they finally slip through this barrier and free the woman they served?

After every assault, the lights trained on Cassie would brighten, forcing the shadows away. She was a display to the cameras in the corners, a showcase for the monsters that watched from afar. They were always watching, staring down at Cassie as she let her Powers run nearly unrestrained.

A suppression bracelet - how Cassie craved one. She despised this, despised how wild and rampant her Powers acted without control. She lacked control, despite how often Ara tried to train her, despite every attempt to act with reason, despite how her family yearned to have their precious sweetheart back.

Cassie never wanted to snap like this. When Ara died in her arms, however, something broke inside Cassie. A lock, a chain, a binding keeping certain Powers hidden away. It was an oddity, especially since every Power she was born with was removed by her father, Ben, when his mind was clouded by a cult. Cassie resented him for only a few minutes when she learned, unable to hate him for long, even though he was barely in her life for many years.

Even after Ara rose again, born from the ashes like the phoenix she was, Cassie's mind did not repair. Her words were no longer her own, her actions cruel and unkind. She never wanted to feel that again, never wanted to feel so mean, which left her reluctant to continue any and all training.

Another wave of shadows crashed against the container, Cassie screaming louder as the lights brightened further. Every increase of lumens was making her skin warmer, hot to the touch, sweat rolling along her bare arms and legs. A _bang_ startled Cassie, forcing her voice to hitch in her throat, replacing the screams with coughing. Her hand was pressed to the glass - when did she move it from her side?

Another _bang,_ Cassie blinking and finding her forehead against her enclosure. Pain bled through her skull before she blinked again, finding herself suddenly flat on her back. The agony surged stronger now, flowing from her forehead to the back of her neck.

She stared upwards, squinting, before glancing at the lights and crying out. They hurt more than ever, and she pressed her palms to her shut eyes, hardly noticing how both had taken on a dark purple pattern of bruising. Behind her eyes, and there when she opened them again, little stars shimmered in her vision. Her eyes chased them, flicking from star to star as nausea built up in her empty stomach.

Was that fire she smelled? Or was it a meal being lowered from the hatch in the ceiling? She focused her eyes again on the indented square, the only opening she ever saw for potential escape. No, it was still firmly sealed. Where was the fire? She managed to sit up wobbly, glancing past the smeared blood on the cage and into the receding darkness. No fire. Then why did she smell it?

Was it fire? No, it smelled more like... like the roast ham Bach cooked last Christmas. Cassie's mouth began to water, her hands moving to her scarred abdomen. Food, she craved it, craved Bach's cooking, his warmth, his music, his touch, his heartbeat that so sweetly lulled her to sleep. Her body ached as she traced the long scar, remembering the labor, remembering how she fought against the doctors' knives, afraid to be cut open to let little premature Blair be born.

Another groan slipped out, her eyes squeezing shut as she covered her ears. Ringing, violent and intense, so powerful it made her fingers erupt with the wretched pins-and-needles sensation. What did she do? Why did her head feel ready to explode?

When she opened her eyes, darkness greeted her. This was not tangible, there were no shadows to manipulate. The lights still blazed on her skin. She felt her eyelids, felt how open wide they were, witnessed how she could not see her hands.

"What the fuck?" She whispered, feeling the letters and words melt together. Every noise she made felt like the slurred notes of a melodic flute piece she once performed in a duet with Bach. She rubbed her eyes, blinked many times, but the light did not return to her sight.

Had she somehow blinded herself? Panic began to settle in her gut. No, no, this couldn't be _happening._ She had to see Blair again, she had to. Her little girl was ripped from her arms when those dimension-crossing bastards came and kidnapped them. She wanted to see her daughter grow up. She wanted to see her Papa smile at his granddaughter. She wanted to see so much, why was this happening, _why was this happening?!_

Papa. Lance. The man who raised Cassie while her parents were in an asylum, recovering from the damage the cult inflicted on their minds. She hated how distant he became, how he left before seeing her baby girl. But, he found friends. Celestials, just like him. He... "wasn't alone anymore."

That wording made Cassie's heart absolutely ache. Lance was more of a father than Ben ever was. Was she not enough? No, no, she knew the answer, knew it though she hated it. He was distant to protect her, to protect everyone. His enemies, innumerable, infinite, were always watching. They would know to target his family. Abandoning them was the best thing for them. For him.

Did that mean he was never coming back? That he was never going to be there to save them again? He left Earth's defense in the hands of his sister, in the hands of many people. But, all of those people were captured, weren't they? They had to be. Or else, Cassie would have been broken out, rescued

Maybe everything was already over, and they couldn't find Cassie. If they had dimension-crossers, there was no telling if she was trapped in her home dimension. Ara's tracking spells couldn't cross those walls. What if they were all okay and just searching for her? Would they ever find her? Would Papa ever find her?

Cassie balled herself up, begging her sight to return, doubtful it would. Tears slipped down her cheeks as her body trembled, the pulsing pain growing stronger with every second. Had she seized? Was that why everything was so foggy, so clouded? Questions, questions, they became her only companion in the devastating darkness.


	27. Okay - Who Had "Natural Disasters" on their 2020 Bingo Card?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 27: Okay, Who Had "Natural Disasters" on their 2020 Bingo Card? - Extreme Weather/Power Outage
> 
> This work revolves around Linei, chief of the NYPD. She is a kind woman, becoming chief due to Lance seeing how purr her heart was, how equality for Empowered and Powerless was her primary goal. She serves alongside Ziva and Hiro, two people she has found herself slowly falling in love with.
> 
> TW: swearing, flooding, blood, death mention

New York City had fallen apart. 

Officer Linei, chief of the New York Police Department, had been steadily watching as her city crumbled. She wondered if other cities had suffered the same fate. Their president, Kinfolk, had slid in laws that destabilized the entire economy. Powers were used everywhere, every day. Linei herself used her Power to help stop crime, help rescue others. And he banned the usage of Power.

This ban was going to be their downfall. Already, emergency room waiting times had quadrupled. Less and less criminals were being caught. Constructed lasted twice as long. America slowed down to a crawl without Powers. It had stepped backwards sixty years, before Powers surged into existence, before the Empowered gained their rights. 

Still, Linei had a duty to uphold. She had laws to follow if she wanted to keep her job. Lance, he believed in her, believed in her adamance to do what was morally correct. He helped her arrest the previous chief due to him helping incite riots at pro-Powerless demonstrations, he chose her to be the new chief. Did he have the right to do that? Was it right for such a multi-dimensional entity to interfere? Linei refused to let that question bog her down. He believed in her. 

She was disappointing him, she decided. Arresting Empowered for using Powers that weren't used in a harmful way. Upholding Kinfolk's cruel laws. Her gut churned when she saw the vans take away the Empowered, vans painted with "E.E.U." - Empowered Enforcement Unit. She didn't know where those vans went. She didn't like that all of her friends were slowly vanishing. She didn't like that her routine check on Lance's family turned up only one person, one of the two Powerless in those houses, a man named Gray.

Soon enough, New York was going to collapse. The rains came first, heavy, the stairs to the subways becoming waterfalls as they flooded the halls and caverns. Linei and her squad hurried to evacuate all citizens trapped in the subways, trying to get them out, get them to safety. Her heart shattered as one of her fellow cops, a water-manipulator, was arrested by the E.E.U. for using their Powers to save an older woman that was swept under by the quickly rising water. 

Looking over the news, Linei watched as the hurricane swept in, taking an unprecedented path and sliding up the east coast. This was going to be more than just rain and flooding. They had to prepare, had to evacuate. But, her primary evacuation plan did not head far enough inland. The city was used to evacuating - every few years, it seemed a new threat targeted the city. A hurricane, however, hadn't happened there in decades. Time was running short.

By the time evacuation started to the newly planned location, the wind was getting stronger, waves crashing up and over the boardwalks. Linei kept checking in with different squads over radio, her heart pounding against her chest as she fought panicking. The people needed her calm, needed her sane. 

"Chief!" A feminine voice crackled through. Ziva, a fellow officer. She worked nights, the sun loving to give her sensitive skin a sweet kiss of death. The sun, however, was absent with the storm clouds overhead. "A huge wave just hit Coney! I haven't gotten everyone evacuated yet!"

Linei's eyes widen, the woman rushing back to her car and climbing in. "On my way, Ziva! Hiro, are you in the area as well?" She sped off, driving as fast as she safely could through the empty drenched streets. 

"Yes, ma'am." Hiro replied. "On my way to Ziva now." 

Hiro, Ziva, how Linei cared for those two. They stuck by her throughout the entire overhaul Lance initiated, wanting to protect Powerless and Empowered equally. Their Powers didn't always work well together, but the three could feel yearning in their hearts - if there was severe damage, they wouldn't be able to rescue people in the ways they knew. Linei wouldn't be able to float heavy debris with just a tap. Hiro wouldn't be able to slip through cracks by turning to smoke. Ziva wouldn't be able to carry three people at once.

Linei looked over in horror as wave after wave washed over the boardwalk. They shouldn't have been there still, they should have just driven out and ran. Civilians, however, they needed saving. Linei parked and rushed over to where Ziva was, trying to help people out of a collapsed booth. _Ah, yes, let's hide from a hurricane in an incredibly flimsy "building" that's literally on a boardwalk. Brilliant. Perfect._ Linei shook her head, slowing as she reached Ziva, shouting over the pounding rain that soaked them to the bone. "I'm here! How many are in there?!"

"Two!" Ziva replied, trying to lift a beam. She was struggling, despising the suppression bracelet she willingly wore to avoid accidental Power usage - the E.E.U. didn't care about accidents, they worked in absolutes. Linei moved closer, helping lift up the beam, the two civilians scrambling out into the pouring rain. "Get them in your car, I'm gonna go search for more!"

Linei nodded, leading the two to her car and getting them to the safety before returning to Ziva. Hiro arrived as well, rushing to join the women. The three worked together, pulling more and more people to safety, operating while the waves were low again, rescuing every last person.

"Incoming!" Hiro called out as he closed the door of his car, turning and watching as a massive wave crested before washing over the boardwalk. Linei barely had enough time to react, getting slammed against the metal railing, listening as the ferris wheel creaked overhead. A scream pierced through the waves, a noise that Linei knew but never wanted to hear - Ziva was hurt. 

As the water receded back, Linei gagging and coughing on the saltwater, she looked to the left and right. Hiro was already running, fighting slipping. He was fidgeting with his wrist, pulling off his suppression bracelet. "HIRO, NO!" Linei cried out, chasing after him, watching as he dissolved into smoke and slipped through the cracks of another collapsed booth. 

Sirens rang in Linei's ear, her waterlogged earpiece alerting for the Power usage. She didn't care, she didn't want to care. It alerted again as the booth's roof lifted with ease, Ziva holding it up with a half-formed Hiro, blood dripping down the woman's forehead. "I fucked up," Ziva grinned, watching Linei come closer. "But I had no choice. And you know that. How long do you think it'll be before those assholes come and arrest us?"

Linei shook her head, helping the two out. "Soon, and they'll take you away, and I'll never see you again a-and..." She hugged Ziva close, pulling Hiro into the hug as he fully reformed. They needed to go, needed to get out everyone they saved, and the quick kiss Linei gave each of them was, she feared, her last contact. 

The three each returned to their cars, driving the ones they saved to the evacuation zone. Waiting there was the E.E.U. van, right on cue. Linei's heart sank, watching as those bastards stopped Ziva and Hiro's cars, pulling them out and placing suppression cuffs on them. The two, along with all other Empowered that exposed themselves to save loved ones, to save strangers, were forced into the van, the door rolling shut as Ziva gave Linei a guilty smile.

Linei pressed her forehead to the steering wheel, other cops working on checking those evacuated, medics doing the best they could without their Powers. As night fell, darkness settled over the location, the city completely dark with the loss of electricity, with the thick blanket of stormclouds. 

The city was falling apart, and Linei, forced to be Powerless, could only watch.


	28. Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 28: Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops - Accidents; along with Alt Prompt 1 - Punctured - and Alt Prompt 7 - Found Family.
> 
> This work revolves around Quinn, a young mute woman who has never been beyond the outer limits of New York without Michi at her side. She lives in an orphanage that Michi runs, helping him however she can as a way to thank him for saving her. 
> 
> TW: blood, scars, rebar puncture, collapsed building, death mention

"QUINN!" 

Such a loud voice rang in Quinn's ears, her bloody hands rising to cover them, to shield herself. Her eyes were closed tight, jaw clenched, every breath short and stressed. A numbness was spreading through her leg, her upper left thigh, chasing away the pain that sprawled through her muscles. 

A heavy hand pressed against her cheek, the voice returning, muffled but breaking through as her hands trembled. "Open your eyes, Quinn, I need you to look at me!" Fighting her instinct to curl up and hide away, she opened her eyes, staring into Michi's electric blue eyes with worry and fear. 

"Okay, okay, how do you feel?" She shook her head, fingers tangling into her brown hair. "Kinda figured, okay, so. I'm gonna get you back home, and you're gonna be just fine. Nothing some stitches can't fix." 

Fix? Fix what? She looked down at the growing bloodstain on her floral jeans, fear bubbling into her heart. Rebar, long and jagged and painted red, it stabbed through her thigh. She tried to focus, tried to tell just what it hit, but it was impossible. Was her femoral artery hit? Was her femur shattered? This needed more than stitches, that was certain.

Michi lifted her into his arms, the frail seventeen-year-old so tiny against his middle-aged mountain of a body. "I've got you, I've got you right here." She leaned her head against him, letting the rumble of his voice in his chest soothe her. Her gaze flicked upwards, at the crumbling ceiling, concrete barely held up by more aching rebar.

Why had she gone into this building? It had not looked like this when she entered, and no demolition was scheduled for the day. She wracked her mind, trying to remember, her face scrunching up. "You ran in here for Jun," Michi said, as if reading Quinn's mind. "He panicked, his Powers unleashed."

Right. Jun, an orphan like Quinn, just a few years younger, had grown so scared when he accidentally used a Power. He feared being arrested, feared that the fellow orphans at Michi's orphanage would all be taken away due to the Power usage. Michi would never let that happen, of course, but Jun ran anyway.

Quinn followed, desperate to bring him back, followed him right into the abandoned parking garage. She lost sight of him, however, and unable to call out for him, she searched silently. When the ground rumbled beneath her, the concrete above groaning under the stress, she knew she had the right location. Jun had seismic Powers, and he used them to bring the building down.

"Is Jun safe?" Quinn signed up at Michi after gently patting his chest to get his attention. "You saved him. Right?" 

"I tried," Michi replied, his voice going soft as he stepped out of the rubble. "But they got him first. I'm so sorry, Quinn..."

Tears welled up in Quinn's eyes. The Empowered Enforcement Unit, their little sensors went off when Jun used his Powers, and they swooped in. Was the building collapsed to stop them? Were there people under the rubble still? Quinn winced, the strain of crying making her throat burn. She rubbed her neck gently, focusing on that pain instead of the burning that began to follow the numbness in her leg.

"We'll save him," she signed again, Michi looking back down at her. "We'll get him out and he'll be safe and he won't have to hide himself ever again." 

A smile crossed Michi's face at her determination. "Yeah, we will, kiddo. But, first, I need to get you patched up." With that, Michi began rushing to the orphanage, careful to not agitate the rebar further. That orphanage, it had been Quinn's home since she was seven. An accident - the details blocked out by her mind - took away her parents, took away her voice, leaving her a mute orphan.

Quinn was grateful every day for Michi. He took her in, taught her sign language, let her use her healing Powers to help the other orphans. The others, they were her siblings, the girl never getting adopted in the decade she was there and watching as kids came and left. Was it because she was mute? Was she too old for adoption? She stopped caring after some time. Questions like that were going to bog her down.

Michi called to one of the kids as he reached the door, someone opening it up and letting them through. He carried her upstairs, to her bedroom. "Bedsheets," she signed. She didn't want to stain the beautiful flowery yellow sheets he bought her.

"Right. Ah, hm..." He looked around before carrying her into his room. Michi didn't care if his sheets were stained red. They were cheap, and she needed help. The more he looked at the injury, the more he knew - she needed a doctor, an actual doctor with an operation to remove the rebar. Her cheeks were getting paler by the second. "Stay right there, okay Quinn?"

She nodded lazily as Michi stepped away. She looked after him, watching as he pulled a phone from his pocket and dialed someone. With a silent sigh, she laid her head back, breath shaky and weak. A hand moved and gingerly felt around the wound. It missed her femur, and it was on the opposite side from the femoral artery. Still, if the piece was ripped out, her leg would never heal properly. 

Michi returned to the doorway, a guilty stare on his face. "I called the hospital. They're sending an ambulance." Quinn grimaced, looking back at the ceiling. She didn't like doctors, but she knew she needed one.

"If they ask about my throat," she started to sign, Michi moving closer to watch and understand. "If they ask about my scars, just tell them I'm mute. Don't mention the accident. I don't want to know, I don't want them to know." Her arms began to ache, and she glanced along her hands, staring at how they trembled. 

"It's been a decade, Quinn," Michi spoke softly. "I don't think they could fix it if they tried."

"I don't want them to try!" She swallowed, wincing again. Breathing was getting harder and harder. This life, she grew used to it. She never wanted to leave the orphanage; she wanted to work for Michi as soon as she turned eighteen. 

"I know, kiddo." He gently brushed some of her hair out of her face, offering a sad smile. "I won't let them mess with you. They're just gonna fix your leg, check for concussions, you know, that whole deal."

Quinn nodded, hearing the sirens draw close. Michi lifted her again and she held on, the smell of iron hitting her nose. She was bleeding out through the underside of her thigh. "Will Lance come soon?" She signed as he carried her back downstairs, knowing that if there was no Power ban, she'd heal herself without a second thought.

"Of course he will," Michi replied, still smiling as he carried her towards the ambulance. "He'll be here any day now, and the world will go right back to normal." He nodded to the E.M.T.s, handing Quinn over as they taped around the rebar to hold it in place, setting her on the rolling bed and getting her inside. "Can I ride with her?"

One of the E.M.T.s stared, then looked past Michi. "Don't you run an orphanage? Pay attention to the other kids." With that, the door was slammed in his face, and the ambulance sped off. Michi fought the rage that burned in his chest; the guy was right, there were other kids to care for. But Quinn, she was a daughter to Michi. She was everything to him. 

With a sigh, Michi went back into the orphanage, checking on the kids. He'd find a way to visit her. He'd have to.


	29. I Think I Need a Doctor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 29: I Think I Need a Doctor - Reluctant Bedrest; along with Alt Prompt 5 - Stoic Whumpees - and Alt Prompt 15 - Carry/Support.
> 
> This work revolves around Michi, a Powerless man that has devoted his life to helping others in every way he can. He runs an orphanage in New York City, creating different inventions during any amount of downtime. He has no known blood relatives close to him, but Quinn is the closest thing he has to a daughter.
> 
> TW: stitches, blood, guns, gunshot

"You need to stay in bed, Quinn."

Michi watched as the girl hobbled towards him, one hand on the heavy bandaging on her leg. She was grimacing, her breathing shallow and short. "I'm fine," the mute girl signed, leaning against a door frame. "Doesn't hurt."

He shook his head, stepping closer. "You're a bad liar. Come on, back to bed." He placed a hand on her shoulder, watching as she stared up with sad eyes. "I'll carry you, is that okay?"

Quinn shook her head, placing a hand over his, gripping it tightly, desperately. She had just returned home from the hospital, the surgery to remove the rebar from her thigh leaving her in a bed for a week. They stared at her, the nurses did, every time they came to feed her. Staring right at her neck, at the scarring she never bothered hiding. She wanted out, and she got out sooner than normal, but it meant she was supposed to stay in bed at home for a few weeks at least.

Michi sighed and gently lifted the girl, ignoring the protests of her palm slamming on his chest. "You're not taking another step like this. I have to make sure your stitches didn't come loose." He laid her back on her bed, making sure her pillows were comfortable before kneels by her legs. She pulled up her skirt just enough to let him see, let him analyze.

His contact lenses were the invention he was most proud of. They were perfected, connected to a database of knowledge, everything he needed right in his line of sight. He pressed a small button on the cuff on his wrist, the lenses looking past the bandaging to see the stitched wound. No, no break, just a little bit of blood oozing out. "You aggravated it," he spoke, returning the lenses to their normal setting and looking up at her. "But that's what the gauze is for. Now, don't get out of bed again, okay?"

"What if I need you?" Quinn signed quickly, desperately. She must have been thinking that one over. "What if something happens? I can't call for you. I can't scream or run for you."

He thought for a moment before nodding and standing. "I have a solution, don't worry." Leaving the room, he returned moments later with a small device in his hand. "Push this any time you need me," he explained, showing her the button on the device. "I'll get an alert and come to you. Press it a bunch of times if it's an emergency."

Quinn took the small box before nodding, setting it down and signing her thanks. Her smiled was pained, sad. "I want to help out," she added. "I want to keep working."

Michi chuckled and pulled a chair close, sitting on it and looking her over. "Y'know, I'm gonna have to start paying you if you stay so insistent about helping." She didn't smile at his words, just stared. "...What?"

"I want to work for you." Michi blinked, staring at her hands before looking to her eyes. "I don't want to leave. I want to stay and work for you." A heavy silence lingered in the air as her hands returned to the blanket that she pulled over her body.

Michi sat back some. He hadn't expected this, honestly. Every other teenager that got old enough, though few in number, Michi had helped find a job, an apartment, a life away from the orphanage. No one had wanted to stay, grateful as they were to him. "Well... I suppose I could use the help," he mumbled. "I can find you an apartment to stay in, though, give you time away--"

Quinn raised her hands, cutting him off. "I don't want to move out. Not yet. This is my room, my home. I want to stay." She sat up further, wincing from the bandages, face contorted in slight pain. "You're my..." Her eyes widened as a scream echoed downstairs, her hands moving to pull off the blanket.

"Woah, no, you stay here!" Michi ordered, rushing out of the room and hurrying downstairs. Cops - no, the Empowered Enforcement Unit - had forced open the front door, guns aimed at the little kids. One of the other teenagers, Claire, was blocking the little ones with their body, snarling and growling. Michi ran forward, anger building. "Hey! What is going on here?!" The E.E.U. officers trained their guns on him, and he raised his hands. "I'm Powerless. I can't do anything. So why are you here?"

"There was a Power surge," one explained. "Located here, just a few minutes ago. We are here to figure out which brat used their Power."

 _Brat._ Michi's hands shook with anger as he stepped closer to the officers, a terrifying glare forming in his eyes as he towered over the group. "These kids are under my protection. You're not allowed to take any of them."

"Sir," another chimed in, "If you do not back off, we will seize all of these kids and relocate them."

Oh, oh no. That did it. That _did it._ "Is that so?" Michi asked, a grin spreading across his face. "Claire. Get everyone out of here. You know the route." Claire nodded and started herding the kids out, the guns moving to aim at them. Michi pressed another button on his cuff, panels on the wall in the entrance hallway opening and firing a plethora of sleep darts at the agents.

Michi backed off into the stairwell, laughing as some of the E.E.U. collapsed. Others aimed at him, another button being pressed and a panel rising from the floor to block off the entry hall from the rest of the house. If Claire went the right route, she was in the basement by now with the kids, the door locked tight. It didn't matter that Michi was Powerless - his intellect was all he needed.

A sensor beeped repeatedly in his vision - Quinn's alert. He turned and ran upstairs, right into her room. "Quinn--" He started, getting sent back as a heavy impact tore through his side, his ears ringing. He stumbled, staring at the agent that came through the window, holding Quinn's hands behind her back, a gun trained on Michi still.

Quinn writhed, tears flooding her eyes as she saw Michi slide to the floor. She stomped on the agent's foot, fighting the pain that burst through her thigh as she stepped away and turned to block Michi's body with her own. A light blue magic flowed from her fingertips, forming a ward that blocked the next shots. Her eyes narrowed and a sickly green magic flowed next, swirling around the agent and sapping his energy, dropping him to the floor.

She turned back to Michi, kneeling beside him. Tears streamed as she held her shaking hands to his side, her lips mouthing numerous unreadable words. Golden light swirled around the wound, the girl giving up on the laws, no longer caring if she was caught or not. She had to heal him, had to save him.

"I think I need a doctor," Michi chuckled, brushing back some of her hair. "Slow down, kiddo, you'll exhaust yourself..."

Quinn shook her head, closing her eyes and focusing more intently, trying to seal the gunshot. Michi stared as she started to repeat a word on her lips. It was hard to tell, but he asked, earning a nod for confirmation. "Are you... calling me 'Dad?'"

She pulled her bloody hands back once the wound was sealed enough, shakily and swiftly signing. "You're my Dad now, you've been my dad for ten years. You saved me, you love me, and I love you." She moved to wipe away her tears but Michi stopped her, wiping them himself so she didn't get his blood everywhere.

"Alright, uh, daughter," he smiled. "We need to get out of here. Claire's in the basement with the others, so we can get them, get to the safe-house. I dunno if Lance will know to find us there, but, we could be lucky." His smile remained, his words comforting Quinn. Lance, he saved that boy's life years ago, before he was even born. Prim, she was about Quinn's current age at that point, cornered and abused by bullies because of her young pregnancy. Michi saved her, saved them. It was Lance's turn to repay the favor.

Michi stood, holding his side, Quinn doing her best to support him with her bleeding thigh. "Let's go, kid." She nodded, helping him back downstairs, out of a hidden back entrance, unwilling to let go of her dad - no matter what pain she felt.


	30. Now Where Did That Come From?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 30: Now Where Did That Come From? - Wound Reveal/Ignoring an Injury/Internal Bleeding
> 
> This work revolves around Andromeda, a woman who has been through hell and back for nearly thirty years. After losing her father, Dead, when she was sixteen, her life became an ongoing nightmare that she has hardly recovered from. There is never a dull moment for her - something is always happening, whether involving her family, or the man she can't bring herself to stop loving. She is married to Ben and they have two twin daughters - Ara and Cassie. Her mother is Norga, and her half-siblings are Dakota and Jay.
> 
> TW: swearing, rape, death mention, cult mention, self harm

Life had turned to Hell. Andromeda thought she had lived through it all. Seeing her best friend die when she was sixteen? Check. Joining a cult and becoming its leader? Check. Giving birth to twins and one of them dying? Check. Nearly killing all of her friends that her mind now believed were enemies? Check. Being nearly killed by the previously dead best friend that somehow lived and was desperate to keep some massively powerful bastard from taking over her head? Check. Finding out her previously thought dead daughter was really alive and turned into a killing machine? Check. Getting stabbed by her husband when he was possessed by a god of unimaginable power? Check. Watching as her other daughter was warped into a mental state that made her cold, callous, cruel? Check.

How had she lived this far? Why did she get to live? Her life was a rollercoaster with more downs than ups. Through it all, her husband, Ben, stuck with her. He was there for her, Powerless as he was, abused and depressed as he was. She loved him with all of her heart, soul, body and mind. Her daughters, Cassie and Ara, they were there, too, beacons of light in a stormy sea. Her sons-in-law, Bach and Gray, helped her daughters stay happy and loved. Her granddaughters, Blair and Opal, were rays of sunshine that made Andromeda's heart swell with pride.

Yet, as they grew older, someone was slipping out of relevance. Someone that Andromeda truly loved, loved when she knew she shouldn't, when she knew she couldn't. He was her best friend. She watched him get punched through the chest, watched him take a blast of magic to the back. Twice, she watched him die. Twice, she witnessed him come back. He raised little Cassie, trained her and kept her safe. He helped Andromeda's mind heal from the dark thoughts she still harbored. He saved their dimension time and time again.

_"Look at me."_

A deep voice grunted, the man it belonged to grabbing her cheeks and tilting her face upwards. She glared, her blue eyes vibrant and laced with pain. A snarl formed in her throat as she spat in his face, her glare turning to a content smirk as he groaned in disgust.

"Fucking bitch! I'll kill you!" His hand wrapped around her throat, only making her smile further. "Disgusting piece of shit!"

Andromeda winced as his hand tightened. "Come on, you kill me, and your boss'll kill you. I'm his favorite little pet, don't you know?" She lifted one hand, placing it on the man's cheek, rubbing her thumb along his cheekbone. "You're lucky that he leaves me with you when he goes out for drinks. But you're nowhere near as good as him--"

Her voice rose an octave as the man adjusted his position, his hand releasing her neck and moving to grip her thigh. Her body was bare to him, pristine, unscarred aside from the brand of a Phoenix on her left shoulder, aside from the long scar along her lower abdomen. A hysterectomy, completely voluntary, done because Andromeda did not want to have another kid. "What if they die like Ara did?" She had asked Ben, fear in her voice, her daughter still believed dead. She couldn't take the risk, couldn't take the chance.

That scar was helping her life descend further and further on the rollercoaster. She was bought by a sex-crazed lunatic, a man that wanted nothing more than to dominate and abuse an Empowered woman. Because Andromeda couldn't bear any kids, he always acted without regret, without hesitation. Andromeda missed her strength. She would rip the heads off of everyone that touched her, off of every one of the lunatic's friends. They didn't deserve to live.

She missed her fire as well, how it ran through her veins and kept her warm on the coldest nights. That fire would burn this building to the ground someday, she knew it. The instant she got that bracelet off, they'd all regret hurting her. Her pain suppression, her self-healing, she _despised_ feeling so Powerless.

"I'll make you regret that, little whore," the man on top of her growled. A security guard, he was pathetic, and Andromeda would enjoy snapping his neck. There was nothing he could do to make her regret anything. He didn't know her weak point - he didn't know her family.

Andromeda rolled her eyes, trying to focus her attention elsewhere. That bracelet, it rubbed against her wrist and drew unfamiliar pain forth, pain she wanted to ignore, to forget. Every day, when she was left alone, she tried to get it off. Her solution was painful, agonizingly so, but it was all she had without any knives or blades.

A cry slipped out of her mouth as the man grabbed her wrist, pinning it above her head. A burning pain pulsed from it, shooting up her arm, making the old brand sting. The guard narrowed his eyes, moving the bracelet aside, staring. "Now where did that come from? The little bitch has been hiding something?" He looked over her raw and bloody wrist, noting the teeth marks. She was trying to gnaw her own wrist off to remove the bracelet.

It was a sound plan, Andromeda knew it. As soon as the bracelet was off, her hand would heal back, and she would just be left with minor scarring. But, gnawing through the flesh was beginning to feel impossible, tears dripping into the open wound. How was she ever going to get through the bone?

The man got off of Andromeda, clothing himself before grabbing a first aid kit. She sat up, ignoring again the pain in her thighs, watching him. "What are you doing?"

"That's getting infected," he started. "And if you die to something I could have prevented, _I die."_

Andromeda rolled her eyes as he drew closer, opening the kit and pulling out a roll of gauze. "Am I supposed to feel sympathy for you? 'Oh, boohoo, I'm gonna die, please feel sorry for me.' Fuck off." She glared daggers at him as he began to wrap up her wound. "You're a creep, a rapist, and I can't wait for my husband to come and kill you."

Of course, she didn't mean Ben. Perhaps Ben could kill this man, if he wanted, but Ben was safe at home. He had to be, she left him with Gray, two Powerless men against the world. However, that registration machine, it claimed Ben had Powers. Miniscule ones, left over from the possession he experienced, but that couldn't be enough to cause an arrest.

Nevertheless, she refused to speak Ben's name. Andromeda was adamant that these creeps never knew his location, his existence. She said a different name instead, speaking of someone that these men should have feared. Her best friend, the main being she trusted her life and safety with.

"Lance ain't coming," the guard spoke, finishing the bandaging and taping the gauze. "I don't care how many times I have to hear you scream his name, he isn't coming."

"You're wrong," Andromeda grinned, leaning closer. "He's going to kill every last one of you. Then he'll kill Kinfolk, and everything will be fixed and saved and done. You won't live to see the end. He'll make sure of it--"

A scream ripped out of her throat as the man landed a punch in her gut. Bruising, that was going to cause bruising and lots of it, especially after he punched again. "SHUT UP!" He shouted, pushing her back down and climbing on top. He was clothed again, but he unzipped his jeans, spread her legs. She tried to fight back, earning another gut punch. When she coughed, blood trickled from her lips.

"Your boss... isn't gonna like that," she wheezed, whimpering as he towered over her, pain erupting between her thighs.

"I don't give a fuck," he growled, wrapping a hand around her throat and squeezing. She grabbed at his wrist, whining, fighting for air as his grip tightened further and further.

"Lance!" Andromeda gasped out, darkness filling her vision. "Lance, love, my love, come-- Come home--" The last thing she saw was the guard's angered face, the last thing she heard was her own cries of pain, then the world went completely dark.


	31. Broken Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for prompt Day 19: Broken Hearts - Grief/Mourning Loved One/Survivor's Guilt
> 
> This work revolves around Lance, along with every one else that was injured throughout these prompts. Finally, Lance arrived, rescuing everyone from their torturers. Yet, everything is not happy or calm or pleasant. Lance is the son of Prim and Kian, the brother to Simon and Fenne, and he has been through more than anyone could expect in his life as a Celestial. Grief seems to follow him wherever he goes...
> 
> TW: swearing, death mention, child abuse mention, alcohol

"You were LATE!"

 _Late._ Gray's voice echoed in Lance's mind, resounding loud and clear. The Powerless man had snapped the instant he laid eyes on the Celestial - it didn't matter that Ara and Opal were in his arms, safe, alive. It didn't matter that family after family was reunited. Lance was "late."

"He's wrong," a deep voice cut through Gray's, dissolving it with the fatherly comfort the owner held. Dead, he was one of the countless deceased Celestials that lived on in Lance's head, father to Andromeda, Dakota, Jay. He helped Lance so often, helping him wade through anxiety and doubt, keeping him moving, working, thinking properly. "You weren't late. So many more would be dead if you were late."

That was the issue. People still died. Countless Empowered were executed by Kinfolk, by his followers. Just because no one close to them died... No, someone close did die. A young boy, someone Lance would have happily called "nephew" if the man wasn't Hell-bent on keeping all family at arm's length, desperate to protect them from the villains that had eyes trained on the Celestials.

Fenne, his little sister, she was weeping as Sun held her close. Both women had been through so much - Fenne's mane of hair was ragged, dirty, matted; Sun's lips ached, the stitches that sealed them shut only recently removed. Why weren't they mad at Lance? He didn't save their son. They had every right to hate him. Especially Fenne...

Had he said the wrong thing? He once took away Fenne's memories, a precaution to keep her from attacking him again under Aamon's will. Aamon, a monster, a bastard, grandfather to Dakota and Jay - he existed by residing in the mind of others, puppeteering them when they hit moments of weakness. He slipped into Fenne's mind - how, no one knew, as it was believed he was finally defeated by Lance years ago. But the girl craved Power, craved strength to rival her brother's. She wanted to fight alongside him, wanted to prove herself - Aamon told her that if she killed Lance, he would come right back. She didn't know he was lying.

Fenne begged to keep her memories; Kinfolk must have unlocked them by mentioning Lance, taunting her with the thoughts that he'd never come to rescue her. Lance allowed her to keep them on one condition: "It happens again, it's your life." He threatened to kill her, but he never meant it maliciously. Perhaps she took it that way, when her eyes flooded with fear, her body beginning to shake, her voice absent. She had wanted to hug him, thank him, reunite with him, but that desire fled in an instant.

Lance didn't _want_ to hurt her. She was doing well, keeping Aamon under lock and key - did she not even know he was still in there? The only way to remove him was to kill her; at that point, Lance would capture Aamon, lock him inside his own mind, the other deceased Celestials serving as jailers. But, no, no, he never wanted to hurt his baby sister. He trusted her to keep him sealed. He trusted her with so _much._

"I'll explain it to her," another voice piped up. Oden, the vessel for Aamon for the longest time, he understood Fenne more than anyone. "When she goes to be alone, I'll explain." Lance could feel the man's smile, the warmth it gave. He was unsure how Oden knew Fenne would leave, but soon enough, Fenne placed a kiss on Sun's forehead before flying off.

Lance eyes flitted from the building she landed on back to Sun. The girl had wrapped her arms around herself, sniffling, moving to sit along the wall. She had no other family there, no biological family at least. She was from Tennessee, a girl searching for adventure, for purpose. He walked over, kneeling in front of her, looking her over as her tear-filled eyes rose to meet his.

"What... What do you want?" She whispered, words still so foreign on her tongue after months of absence. "Fenne just left, if you're looking for her."

Lance shook his head. "I'm not here for her. I'm here for you." He offered a small smile, one she rejected, turned her head to look away. "Sun? What's wrong?"

A laugh bubbled out of her, voice cracking, she wiped a hand along her freckled cheek as a tear fell. "What's wrong? What's fucking wrong? _Everything,_ Lance, I... our son is dead, and... and Fenne doesn't know it, I can't tell her, I can't, I..."

"Tell her what?" He could pry, if he wanted. See right into her mind, see everything Kinfolk did. He already saw what that monster did to his little sister, and he was going to be sure he was going to suffer eternally in Hell for ever _touching_ Fenne.

"It's my fault!" Sun gasped out, fear lacing her voice, and she wiped away more tears. "He made me choose! He made me choose between her and Haku and... And I chose for Haku to _die,_ Lance, I-I..."

Lance stayed quiet for a moment before moving to sit beside her. Gingerly, hesitantly, he draped an arm around the girl - she was another little sister at this rate, wasn't she? "Don't blame yourself," he whispered, glimpsing into her mind. She didn't truly choose, she couldn't choose. Kinfolk made her pick a number, and she happened to pick Haku's. "Don't ever blame yourself--"

"She'll blame me!" Sun looked up at him, absolute sadness filling her eyes. "She's gonna hate me, she's gonna really hate me if she ever finds out, I... I can't... if I chose her, you'd have _killed_ me--"

"No," he started, holding Sun closer. "No, no, don't think like that, please... I'd never hurt you, okay?" He could feel, in his words, his motions, that Dead was helping him speak. "Please don't think you're alone here, either... I know Mom sees you as a second daughter." Or, third, no, fourth daughter, he wanted to say, his gaze flitting to Andromeda. His mother had raised Andromeda and Ben alongside Lance, a caring mom that both of them needed. The woman was trembling, smiling as she ran her fingers through Ben's hair, planting chapped kisses on his forehead.

Sun shook her head. "I don't want to bother her," she mumbled. "She's with her husbands, she's busy..." Lance rolled his eyes slightly before calling to Prim, horror filling Sun's eyes. "No, no, please, I don't want to bother her--"

Prim jogged over, looking at how bedraggled, battered, beaten Sun looked. "I've got her from here, Lance," his mother smiled as she took a seat on the other side of Sun, shushing the girl's protests. "Go talk to the others, okay? I know more people want to thank you..."

Lance stood, dusting dirt from his jeans. "Yeah, I'll try and avoid Gray if I'm searching for praise," his voice was so bitter as he spoke. Gray managed to get under his skin, how, how did he manage that? He stepped away from his mom, eyes scanning over the crowd.

Ara was arguing with Gray, Opal distant from her parents, not wanting to listen. Simon was talking to his tired and weary fathers, Velvet at his side. Cassie was so gently speaking to Bach with an aching voice, the man hardly hearing her, his eyes focused on their toddler in her arms. Star was coughing occasionally, comforting a crying Christopher as Jeremy stayed curled up, hardly wanting to move. Jay and Rose were happily, sweetly reunited, the man cured of his demonic possession; Pera was cured as well, the once-angel now wingless, her eyes glancing ever upwards, to her sister, to her lover. Quinn, Michi, Linei, all three were flitting from group to group, checking on them, making sure they were healthy, healing.

They were busy. Every single soul was busy, focused on each other, on their families and lives. He had his own family to center on, his gaze finally landing on the five that were watching him, making sure _he_ was okay when he was so concerned for others. He offered a small smile, walking over to the Celestials.

"Is everyone gonna be okay?" The smallest, Reese, piped up. They were the youngest, the newest Celestial, their eyes almost always filled with wonder. Lance had watched them break, however, watched them weep when their goddess, Tay, turned them away in such a cruel manner.

"Yeah," Lance nodded. "They'll be fine."

Jace stepped a bit closer. He was deaf, hearing through the reading of minds, and his icy eyes were focused on Pera. In his home dimension, she was serving as the Deity with his brother, Geryn. "They still ache. Their lives will be forever changed..."

Lance grimaced slightly. "I know, I know... I can't exactly heal that without wiping their memories, now can I? They'll heal over time, together."

"Will _you_ be okay?" Ivy spoke next, the oldest of the group. She was part of a fascinating species, the last of her kind, plant-like and powerful.

He hesitated, closing his eyes. In his mind flashed images, the memories of his family and friends. How many would scream his name, beg for him to help, pray for his return. His eyes reopened as Grant, burly and heavily muscular, clapped his hand down on Lance's shoulder. Zed was closer, offering a bottle of alcohol, the swordsman wondering if that was the solution.

Lance shook his head, rejecting the alcohol, smiling wider as warmth spread through his chest. "I'll be okay," he told them, and they all knew it wasn't a lie. At the moment, however, he was aching, his heart shattering for the nephew he lost, for the lives he couldn't save. Part of him wanted to cry, to weep for the pain they felt.

The last time he let his anxiety and self-doubt control him, however, the last time he slipped and stumbled and fell apart, he had seen someone die in front of him - Mary, a girl that Kian once adopted, a girl that Lance once called his sister. He couldn't save her and he shattered, drinking away the pain, avoiding any help that was requested. He couldn't do that again. He refused to do that again.

Lance felt Oden return to his mind just moments before Fenne's arms wrapped around him, the girl pressing her face against his back. She didn't speak, didn't make a noise, aside from a small whimper as Lance pried her off to turn around. Her eyes widened as he pulled her into his arms, holding her close.

"I never want to hurt you, please believe that," Lance whispered. His body was tense, on guard, ready for any potential attack. But Fenne buried her face again, clinging as tight as she could, and part of him relaxed. The others would stay on guard, watch over their friend, protect the two during their fleeting happy moment.

Eventually, Fenne moved to pull away, wiping tears away and smiling up at Lance. "Don't be too much of a stranger," she replied, her voice weak, soft. "Or I'll hunt you down again."

"Please don't," he laughed before ruffling her hair. "Go on, go back to Mom, to Sun. They need you." Fenne hesitated before nodding, backing up before running off. Lance turned to the other Celestials, nodding, opening a portal and stepping through. He would be back, someday. Back to protect them, help them, heal them.

He'd always come back.


End file.
